


And A Shimmer Takes My Eye

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - New York City, Blind Date, Don't copy to another site, Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Political Scandal, Press and Tabloids, Rating May Change, Romantic Comedy, Sharing a Bed, Vicchan Lives, well sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2020-03-20 10:52:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18991204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: Walking through the streets of New York, Yuuri balances the phone call on his bluetooth headphones alongside errands for his day off. “I don’t know, Chris— “You’ve been alone too long, schatzi,his friend chides him. Chris met Yuuri when he was in the costume department at the Met, but since he got a coveted position at the Paris Opera, they can only FaceTime or cross an ocean for quality friend time.Orfeo closes soon, he’ll be in New York for business… at least enjoy a glass of something beautiful while exchanging a bit of small talk, yeah?Yuuri enters the cake shop, walking past case after case of treats and pastries. A lovely cassis and white chocolate mousse cake catches his eye, and his conversation lags as he contemplates purchasing it as a gift to his cast mates for their final bow in a week. “Well. Before I grudgingly agree—”That’s the spirit,Chris jokes.“Is he at least… nice?”  Yuuri asks.---A Victuuri Modern Fairy Tale set in New York, with them being set up by Chris on a blind date. Updates every other Tuesday.





	1. Bar Bouloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mutual friend introduces Yuuri to a handsome, charming man through a blind date.
> 
> If only it were truly that simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> Soundtrack on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=vg82Pc68Squw9ZX8HPU7Ig).  
> 

Walking through the streets of New York, Yuuri balances the phone call on his bluetooth headphones alongside errands for his day off. “I don’t know, Chris— "

_You’ve been alone too long, schatzi_ , his friend chides him. Chris met Yuuri when he was in the costume department at the Met, but since he got a coveted position at the Paris Opera, they can only FaceTime or cross an ocean for quality friend time.  _ Orfeo closes soon, he’ll be in New York for business… at least enjoy a glass of something beautiful while exchanging a bit of small talk, yeah? _

Yuuri enters the cake shop, walking past case after case of treats and pastries. A lovely cassis and white chocolate mousse cake catches his eye, and his conversation lags as he contemplates purchasing it as a gift to his cast mates for their final bow in a week. “Well. Before I grudgingly agree—”

_That’s the spirit_ , Chris jokes.

“Is he at least… nice?” Yuuri asks. Costume measurements mean minimal indulgence, so he buys two coconut rochers and a dry cappuccino, paying the cashier before sitting with his snack. The fluff and fold is next, followed by more dog food for his beloved toy poodle. “If he isn’t at least kind, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

_ I would say his life’s motto can be summarized by: do no harm, but take no shit. The business he’ll be in New York for is philanthropic. _

Yuuri nods. “Okay. One drink.”

_ That’s my adventurous bean. I’ll text you time and place. Ciao, bello! _

“Bye Chris,” Yuuri says. He finishes his cappuccino and grabs a hot tea to nurse as he picks up his laundry from the service, arranges for a delivery from a grocer, and grabs Vicchan’s favorite kibble. He arrives home to walk his best friend, and then they spend time together while Yuuri cooks a quick dinner. 

Chris is oddly tight-lipped about this friend, Yuuri thinks over his mother’s tonkatsu ramen recipe. He had to cheat with the broth, but it’s a good substitute. It sounds like he has as hard a time as Yuuri does over meeting people. His schedule at the Met keeps him from meeting too many people outside of the company. This friend of Chris’s sounds just as busy, and… well, he swore he’s a good person.

His phone chimes with a text message. 

_ Tuesday, 8 pm at the bar inside Daniel Bouloud’s place. Here’s a photo so you can find him. _

The photo is of a man with blue eyes like the clearest St. Barths sea waves and a hair color somewhere between light blond and silver. He has a strong nose and high cheekbones, and he’s dressed in an elegant gray suit with an Hermès tie and pocket square. He is… horrifyingly attractive, Yuuri decides, with a warm smile like a paper Valentine card. 

He looks slightly familiar, but he’s from somewhere in Europe according to Chris, and Yuuri has close to zero time for keeping up with a lot of current events unless they concern the art world. He’s handsome, regal-looking really, and Chris has informed Yuuri his name is Victor. 

Yuuri adds the event to his iCal. Then he texts three outfit selfies to his older sister, his best friend from university, and his best friend from his hometown in Japan.

_ Black and red _ , says Mari.  _ You’re infuriatingly good looking in red. _

_ You should do the indigo and violet _ , contradicts Yuuko.  _ Like a prince! _

_ If you wore the black and red in front of me, even I would want to bone you _ , replies Phichit. 

Majority wins so Yuuri steams the black and red outfit in preparation. 

Tuesday’s only a few days away. He has matinees and evening performances in the meanwhile. 

It’s just a single cocktail, he considers as he cuddles up to Vicchan on the sofa and Hayden fills his apartment. It’s not like he’ll meet the love of his life.

Yuuri arrives at 7:59 in the blue blazer, indigo shirt, and navy pants Yuuko liked best because why not be utterly contrary. He’s gelled back his hair as he does on stage, and upon his arrival into Daniel Bouloud’s bar, he’s greeted with a warm smile and an escort to a more private corner towards the back. 

A lot of people have on sunglasses indoors, Yuuri distantly notes, as his companion stands in a gentlemanly greeting. 

Victor has about three inches on Yuuri, and has on a gray and back cashmere sweater over a white Oxford shirt. The dim, intimate lighting makes his hair gleam, and Yuuri’s knees go a little weak. “Ah, Yuuri?” Victor greets him. 

“Yes… Victor?” Yuuri offers his right hand, and Victor shakes it with a firm grip and a soft gaze as they take each other in.

Victor lingers as he holds his hand, and Yuuri doesn’t mind one bit until they both remember themselves. “Ah, please—” Victor says.

Yuuri sits across from him. He’s just…. gorgeous. He also seems more familiar up close. 

One of the people with sunglasses on whispers something to Victor, and he whispers back with a nod. “What do you like to drink, Yuuri?”

Yuuri glances over the menu. “The ‘This Flight Tonight’ sounds good.”

“Make that two,” Victor says to the sunglasses guy. He’s an older man of about 70 with thinning hair and an aura of having Seen Things. Yuuri watches him go with a bit of puzzlement. Victor takes it in. “Did Chris tell you anything about me?” 

“That you’re here with a philanthropic foundation,” Yuuri offers. “That you met him at his work in Paris. Otherwise, no.”

Victor smiles and Yuuri gets the odd feeling it’s relieved. “Ah, I’m happy to hear this! I’d much rather make my own first impression, you know?”

“That does make sense,” Yuuri agrees. “Okay, then...let’s make small talk, I suppose.”

They sit in a bit of awkward silence as their cocktails arrive. They’re the same blue as Victor’s eyes, and Yuuri enjoys his first sip with gusto. Maybe it’ll settle him a little more. 

“Chris tells me you sing,” Victor begins after a moment.

“Ah, yeah, just a dime-a-dozen tenor,” Yuuri says with a slight blush.

Victor tilts his head to one side. “Aren’t you currently cast as the eponymous  _ Orfeo _ at the Met?”

Yuuri blushes. “Well, yes—”

“I would love to see it,” Victor continues. “I bet you’re magnetic on stage. I saw clips online when Chris told me your name — I googled you, I hope that’s alright — and those short peeks were utterly stunning.”

Yuuri stares, owl-eyed, at Victor. “I get… horrid stage fright.”

“So do I when I have to give a speech,” Victor admits. “But we go on anyways, right?”

Yuuri feels his nervousness dissipate. “You get stage fright?”

“Yes, I’m usually speaking in front of large groups,” Victor elaborates. “And the topics are often quite serious. I’m concerned about stumbling, mixing up parts of the speech, using poorly researched information… but I go on anyways. I do my best. It’s all we can do, and I know you give your everything when you sing.”

He’s not only gorgeous and presumably important, he’s… normal. He’s relatable, and Chris was right, he is kind and easy to be around. Yuuri’s heart beats a little quicker as he continues to talk, noting that Victor’s accent is softened probably by lots of English being necessary in his day-to-day. When he uses certain vowel-consonant combinations, Yuuri can detect a hint of a Minsk accent. 

Yuuri sings at the Met, and its cast and crew are international. Plus, it’s kind of part of the job of knowing how to sing certain words correctly. 

Though, Yuuri is a bit jealous Chris gave Victor enough information to successfully google him, but he’s now in the same room. He can just ask questions.

“Do you… have any pets?” Yuuri tries.

Victor positively lights up. “Yes! I have a poodle. Her name is Makkachin, and she’s the heart of me.”

A  poodle . “I have a poodle, too,” Yuuri says. “Vicchan, named for Victor Garber.”

“He’s an incredible talent,” Victor says. “Do you like other singers, Yuuri?”

“Anna Netrebko and Yoshie Fujiwara,” Yuuri replies without missing a beat. “If I can be a tenth of as good as the latter, it’s a win in my book.”

Victor’s forefinger touches his lips. “I’ll be taking over the operations of one of Mamen'ka’s foundations on top of the ones I currently manage; it involves arts patronage. I wonder about expanding it into the performing arts as well…”

“Is it like the NEA?” Yuuri asks. 

“Yes and no,” Victor says. “We incite less controversy, I think, but we do provide grants to artists for projects, shows, and education, including youth initiatives.”

“That would be really wonderful,” Yuuri says. “So many kids can’t pursue their dreams because lessons can be incredibly expensive. My own parents sacrificed a lot for my voice training, and I try to repay them when I can. Though… I guess I can’t, really.”

“Your happiness is a fine repayment, I’d wager,” Victor says, “as well as your incredible success.” He’s crushing in his sincerity, and Yuuri can’t help but flush a bit at his comment. 

One drink becomes two with a charcuterie board, and halfway into their sampling of a decadent triple-cream brie Yuuri will pay handsomely for in Lactaid tablets, the sunglasses man comes back, bending down and whispering into Victor’s ear. 

Victor looks crestfallen. “Already?” Sunglasses Man nods twice, saying something in a language Yuuri isn’t familiar with, but the nod and the tap of his watch with a finger tells the story anyhow. “But I don’t want to—”

Yuuri smiles, but it’s a little sad. He’s surprised at himself, but he’s only scratched the surface of this beautiful man before him. He wants to know so much more. “It’s alright. Maybe I’ll… see you around I guess.”

“Wait!” Victor says. He opens his mouth, closing it, and then he takes a deep breath. “Are you free for lunch?”

“Ah, yes, actually,” Yuuri says. 

“I’ll send a car!” Victor blurts. “Um… I mean… I  _ can _ send a car, if you wish…?”

“That’s fine.” Yuuri gets out his phone. “I can text you my address…”

“We have it,” says Sunglasses in a gravelly yet not-unkind voice.

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “You…”

Victor shrugs one shoulder and has the grace to look embarrassed. “Vetting process, it’s a security thing. I should have… possibly had Chris let you know.”

There’s another bodyguard a table over, Yuuri realizes. Younger man with dark hair, willowy figure, similar accent to OG Sunglasses. Victor must be in politics or famous otherwise, Yuuri thinks. It’s fine. Reporters and such get vetted through the Met before he speaks with them at work. This would likely be a normal policy for Victor. 

“It’s fine,” Yuuri says. He smiles, a real, genuine one. “What time?”

“Eleven,” Victor says. “I can’t wait to see you again, Yuuri… oh! Bring Vicchan, if you like?”

“Of course,” Yuuri says. 

Victor asks something in that other language, Sunglasses seemingly argues, Victor counters, and then after a few more back-and-forths, Victor bites out a snappish two-word sentence. “Yuuri… I’d like to walk you out.”

Sunglasses grumbles, shaking his head with a loud sigh.

Victor takes Yuuri by the arm, and he walks him to the vestibule. Cars drive by outside, and Yuuri looks up at Victor’s sparkling blue eyes. God, he’s pretty, and he’s very nice, Yuuri thinks. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Victor offers. Then he leans down, and brushes his lips just barely over Yuuri’s cheek. Like courtly love, like gallantry, pageantry and knights of old impressing maidens at Camelot. Yuuri’s heart showers sparks in vibrant colors like fireworks, his face heats up at least twenty degrees, and he thinks he hears  _ Nessun Dorma _ as sung by Pavarotti instead of the music pumped through the speakers surrounding them. 

“See you tomorrow,” Yuuri replies. He walks away, but his head stays turned to look at Victor, and he only just narrowly avoids a collision with the revolving doors as a result. He touches his cheek during his entire cab ride home, and he can’t slow the racing of his heart. 

They barely know anything about one another, but Yuuri suddenly believes in things like fate and love at first meeting. It’s the same way that Calaf’s immediate love of Turandot inspires the aria that persists in haunting him up the stairs in his building to his flat, continuing while he feeds Vicchan and makes himself some chamomile tea with honey to soothe his voice for his next performance. 

Yuuri sits on the couch with Vicchan curled up on his Peabody Conservatory sweatpants-covered legs. He turns on the television, which is set to a local station giving a news report. Yuuri touches the spot Victor kissed again with his other hand stroking Vicchan’s curls. 

_ —a small Principality nestled at the border of Belarus and Russia, Aurifera’s heir presumptive, Prince Victor Nikolayevich Durnovo Yuspov Golitsyn Nikiforov is here on several missions of goodwill as part of the House of Nikiforov’s goodwill initiatives. Prince Victor is scheduled to speak before the United Nations on Thursday regarding a resolution for the Global hunger crisis— _

Yuuri takes a sip of his tea as he glances at the television, and sees archival footage of the Victor he just had drinks with in navy regalia with a burgundy, teal, and gold sash across his chest next to a woman with his hair color and nose clad in a navy Chanel suit and a similar-yet-more-decorated sash and…

The tea is not only spat onto his coffee table, he drops the mug onto the floor. It thuds instead of shattering, the contents soaking into his throw rug, and he stares owl-eyed at his Victor smiling at former President Barack Obama while they shook hands at a state dinner two years ago.  

When Yuuri regains his composure, he sends Chris the following text message:  _ I will end you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Yet another fic, yes I know. But this one is fun and easy and will update twice a month. Some of you already saw the first three parts of this, though...if you'd like to know how to get first crack, you can head to my Twitter and I'll give you the deets. Also beta'ed by the Most Excellent Robbie as always.
> 
> These two in this AU may be based off a certain Duke and Duchess who may or may not have recently had their first child. If you're wondering, they were in fact IRL set up on a blind date through a mystery friend neither will tell on. 😉
> 
> Hope you like it!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim) | [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com)


	2. Momofuku Milk Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has a bit of an existential crisis regarding Victor's occupation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> Playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=5pFFqeI7SVq4sNhuRDfHoA).  
> 

It’s about twenty minutes past when the car should have arrived, and Yuuri sits on the arm of his couch still in his pajamas. One of his socks is burgundy, the other is navy, and Vicchan watches him with a wary expression as he… frankly… as he stews.

The buzzer sounds. He blacked out from a combination of annoyance at Chris and anxiety over Victor, _an_ _actual fucking prince_ , and he came back to reality having bought about fifty dollars of Milkbar snacks on Doordash. Yuuri should stay holed up, but he wants his cake truffles and Crack Pie, so he buzzes him up.

When he opens the door to his flat, he’s greeted by…. Victor holding all of the cakes and treats.

Yuuri stares. 

The older guy with the sunglasses looms near the trash chute like some kind of demented being shrouded in darkness.

Victor smiles. His sweater is the color of red wine, and he’s just…. so precious when he smiles. “I should have probably reminded you… unless you’re unwell?” He looks at Yuuri’s loungewear. “We can give you a few minutes to change, and then we’ll pack these into the—”

 “ _You’re a prince_ ,” Yuuri can’t help but whisper. It may as well be a shout to the heavens.

 Something changes in Victor’s smile; Yuuri can almost tell what it is. “I suppose that… changes things.”

Sunglasses is obviously eavesdropping. Yuuri doesn’t think about how it looks that he’s abducting a royal heir of a principality as he drags him into the apartment, slamming the door closed behind them. Vicchan barks a few times at the unusual disturbance and tension from Yuuri. 

Victor places the bags of snacks on the ground. “You have about ninety seconds before Yakov thinks this is an assassination attempt.”

“I can’t kill actual flies,” Yuuri counters with a puzzled expression.

Victor shrugs. “People who are less assuming than you have certainly tried. I vacationed with Mamen’ka in Malta once and a man grabbed me. He almost got away with it.”

Yuuri blinks a few times. “Almost.”

“Yakov,” Victor says as though that’s all the answer the world requires. “Mamen’ka made sure I didn’t… look.”

That’s only mildly concerning. Yuuri swallows. “I’m not going to… ransom you or anything. I’m an opera singer, not some murdering general.”

“Sure,” Victor says. His smile comes back, and Yuuri realizes it doesn’t look right because it’s frozen, fake, and placating. “Regardless, I’m sure you no longer wish to gift me with your time.”

Yuuri’s mouth twists into a mildly perplexed moue. “I didn’t say that.”

“I lied to you, or well… I had Chris commit several lies of omission,” Victor says. “My life is complicated. Surely you’ll feel like everyone else has.”

“I don’t know what ‘everyone else’ feels, and don’t call me Shirley,” Yuuri deadpans.

Victor stares at him in utter disbelief for long enough the door starts to get pounded against. Probably kicking, Yuuri thinks, which if this Yakov guy manages to destroy the door his building manager will be put out _and_ he’ll lose his deposit. The apartment’s rent controlled, and Yuuri isn’t in the mood to move. 

The noise and casual mayhem brings Victor back to the moment, and he pulls the door open just enough to speak to Yakov. They exchange words in that language Yuuri can’t speak or understand again, and finally Victor closes the door. He grabs the pastries, opening the box of birthday cake truffles. He takes a large bite and lights up. “ _Vkusno_!”

“What does that mean?” Yuuri asks as Victor devours it, then opens a cookie tin. Cornflake-marshmallow-chocolate chip gets eaten just as fast. 

“Oh it means like… delicious, tasty,” Victor explains. There’s marshmallow fluff and cornflake dust on his cheek. “I come to this city every year, and I never get to try these places. It’s always Michelin Star winners with the same foie gras on these indistinguishable tasting menus. They run together, you know?”

Yuuri was a little mad and a lot freaked out, but now he just feels sorry for him. “You don’t get to have much of a life.”

Victor shrugs, pulling apart a cake truffle. “I asked Chris to avoid the issue of my family for a reason.”

Yuuri nods. He grabs a cookie for himself, taking a bite while Vicchan begs below. He’s always shameless when it comes to snacking. “Because you thought I’d be turned off or using you or a political insurgent playing the long game at the Met.”

“That’s the deal, yes,” Victor says. “My title comes with a lot of strings and it’s been hard to make friends, let alone anything else. Chris is one of the few people who doesn’t care. I loved his costumes for _La Cerantola_ , I asked to meet him backstage, and then it was four in the morning at the top of the Eiffel Tower with a half-drunk magnum of grand cuvee passed between us. We’ve been close ever since.”

“I’m glad,” Yuuri says. He eats a truffle. “Chris is a good guy.”

“Yes,” Victor agrees. Vicchan paws at his shin for some of the desserts. Victor visibly softens. “Hi.”

“Hi Vicchan,” Yuuri says. “You know cake isn’t for poodles, Vicchan.”

Victor picks him up, and Vicchan eyes him for a moment before bestowing a single, loving kiss to the bridge of his nose. “What a darling!”

Yuuri’s heart skips a beat or twelve while watching them interact. There’s a lot of instant love there, and Yuuri can’t stop the slight blush on his cheeks from blooming. 

“You know, I saw you once,” Victor says. “You sang at a gala I attended last summer. You sang _Pour mon âme_ so stunningly I thought Pavarotti would die a second time from envy.”

Yuuri recalls the night in question; it was put on by the Kennedy family, the closest thing the United States has to dynastic royalty. He’d almost thrown up before he went on stage and managed to do a new personal best. One of his instructors, Celestino Cialdini, had recommended him for the occasion.

He was also handsomely paid, fed, and wined that evening. He didn’t get drunk, but it was truly remarkable. 

“I don’t remember meeting you,” Yuuri admits.

“You didn’t,” Victor says. “Business kept me occupied, but I was held captive by your voice, and… well, when I found out Chris knows you, I was a bit undignified.”

Yuuri chokes on his cake. 

“I mean—” Victor stammers. “I was… _am_ … a fan. I wanted to perhaps compliment a fine singer, possibly the best tenor of this generation.”

Yuuri chokes for a second time and for a wholly different reason.

“But then you came out for a drink with me and…” Victor hedges. “I thought maybe we could have something.”

Yuuri presses his hand to the cheek Victor kissed the night before. 

“I shouldn’t have kept it from you,” Victor admits. He pets Vicchan intently, not looking at Yuuri as he speaks. “I’m just so used to the title scaring people away or making them obsequious.”

“I can see that,” Yuuri says. He considers things for a while, watching how gentle Victor his with his dog. He thinks about how careful he was the night before, how sweet he’s being. “If I decide the ride’s too turbulent at some point, can I push the emergency stop?”

 Victor looks at him. “Really? I mean… _of course_!”

Yuuri shrugs one shoulder as Victor hands Vicchan back to him. He cracks the front door again, and Yakov immediately launches into a tirade. Victor takes it in stride for about three solid minutes. Just as Victor opens his mouth, Yakov goes off again for another five. He pauses to take a sip out of a flask, then goes back to it for another four. 

Yuuri can’t even be intimidated. He’s just impressed. 

Yakov begins to lose steam, and Victor sighs, tapping his lips with an index finger. “Yuuri—” he turns halfway to him. “I have a function I cannot reschedule for the rest of this afternoon. May I come to your performance tonight?”

“Um, yes, I think… I can get you tickets probably,” Yuuri muses. “You and your… entourage?”

Victor raises an eyebrow at Yakov. Yakov grumbles, pulling out a cellphone, and sends a text message with a scary amount of speed for a man who must be seventy. Within a moment, his phone signals a reply. “We have a box secured,” Yakov says in English. “I’ll send Gosha ahead to sweep.”

“That’s fine too,” Yuuri can’t help but say with a wary look at Yakov. “Um… I’ll make sure you can come backstage after, if you like?”

Victor brightens like a schoolboy. “Absolutely.”

Yakov clears his throat. It is very loud, something a person who smoked too much in his youth would do. It’s mind-boggling and Yuuri considers recommending an ENT while they’re in town. “Vitya.”

Victor raises an eyebrow, then takes two of his fingers, twirling them in the universal gesture for _you can go now_. Yakov grumbles something that must be quite rude given Victor’s scandalized reply, and he shuts the door as he leaves. 

Yuuri is suddenly aware of the fact that he looks like a complete shlub, unwashed, short, and awkward, in front of a literal prince wearing clothing that surely is couture in some capacity. His eyes are like the finest summer sky, and his smile is as bright as the stage lights he’ll be under in a few hours while singing before an elite crowd of New York’s most cultured.

He doesn’t even think about things like he still needs to shower or that he skipped the mouthwash in favor of just a quick brush of his teeth, but then he’s on his toes pulling Victor down by the nape of the neck into a soft, lingering kiss. It singes his edges like the kiss on the cheek did the night before, and given the soft moan Victor makes, it seems to do the same to him. 

 Yuuri is kissing a _prince_ , what a world this is.

They stay closely pressed until a hard knock impacts against the door. Yuuri steps back and bites his nails. Victor blushes to match his sweater, and clears his throat. He turns, stops, turns back, kisses Yuuri a second time and then breaks away. “Stage door, tonight.”

“Stage door, tonight,” Yuuri agrees. 

Victor smiles and takes his leave. There’s muffled yelling that fades as they walk away from Yuuri’s flat, Yakov’s gruffer intonations counter-balancing Victor’s softer, more laid back replies. 

Yuuri grabs his phone, opening his messages with Chris. _I won’t end you, but you’re still on thin ice!_


	3. NoMad Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri performs with Victor in the audience. Also never let it be said a prince does anything halfway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> Playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=5pFFqeI7SVq4sNhuRDfHoA).  
> 

Whenever a show is near close, the crowds are packed at the Met. Tonight’s is a little different, but Yuuri is backstage getting ready for the first act so he has no chance to investigate. His costume is black with silver crystals throughout the top, and his Euridice wears all white with wisps of silk organza like a she’s a ghost.

Yuuri rests his voice, sips on tea with honey, and tries not to let the shakes that threaten every performance take him over. He knows this production in his sleep by now, and he knows Victor will be here tonight so he wants to nail it. 

There’s more buzzing among the corps and the stage managers, burning in intensity. Yuuri tunes it out, losing himself in his own head as he reminds himself of the score, of the arias, of the amount of beats he can’t look at Sara until the right cue.

“—an actual  _ Prince _ —” someone hisses behind him, and that’s when Yuuri realizes the cause of this fever pitch of gossip and energy.

Yuuri pretends not to notice as he sips his tea. He can’t notice, because since word’s gotten out about Victor’s presence in the audience, critics and management may both scrutinize his singing more than is typical for the harsh critiques the high culture New York scene dishes out. After all, there’s a prince in a box tonight. It’s not done to embarrass the Met in front of actual royalty. He takes another drink of his tea, and once the stylist puts his hair in something akin to a faux hawk with glitter on the tips, it’s time for the curtain. 

The orchestra warms up, Yuuri plugging his ears to do the same, and the show begins. Like the temptation to look at his once-again living wife, Yuuri longs to search the balconies and boxes for Victor, even though it’s fruitless without his glasses and with the lights aimed at him. So he sings his heart out, hoping Victor can somehow tell wherever he’s sat that tonight is for  _ him _ .

The acts pass in a blur, and the final notes hang in the air upon a joyful dance with his Euridice.  During the curtain call, Yuuri is given a bouquet of sterling silver and blue roses that are definitely not standard for the Met.

There’s a card tucked inside with a note in metallic gold ink written in careful calligraphy: _Been informed word got out, so we can’t do the stage door._ _NoMad Suite Royale, there’s a car that will wait for you to change._

Yuuri tries to hide his schoolgirl giddiness. He bolts backstage like he seldom does and changes without washing off the make-up or re-styling his hair. The car is at the stage door, a black sleek thing with tinted windows. Yakov, formerly Sunglasses, opens the door for Yuuri before sliding in next to him. 

Yuuri feels like he’s taking Victor to that high school prom thing in American films.

Yakov wears a dour expression as he opens a briefcase, handing Yuuri a pack of forms. “Please sign where marked with an X and initial where marked with a dot.”

Yuuri thumbs through them. Non-disclosure agreements, mostly. Consent to further background checks. More NDAs, more legalese. “This is a lot for a date,” he admits.

Yakov makes a non-commital sound. 

Sighing, Yuuri feels on his person for a pen or the miraculous appearance of his signature stamp. Yakov hands him a champagne-gold Mont Blanc fountain pen and a portable lap-sized writing desk. Yuuri signs and initials like he was told as they arrive at the hotel. 

Yuuri is ushered in the back, up to the suite surrounded by the bodyguards, and he enters a suite not far off from this size of his flat with multiple sitting areas, an office, and a lavish looking bedroom. 

Before he can really take it all in, Yakov gestures, and Yuuri follows him onto the terrace where a fire pit has been set up by a soft, outdoor conversation sofa. An elegant spread is on a long dining table about ten feet from the couch: suckling pig with ramps and peas, uni arranged like tacos, roast chicken with truffles, and several undoubtedly expensive bottles of wine.

“I hope it’s not too much,” says Victor from behind him, making him jump. “Oh, sorry!”

Yuuri regains his footing before immediately losing it a second time as he can only assume Victor never changed his clothing after the opera. Though it’s entirely possible he prefers to sit around his house in silk-wool herringbone bespoke suits. After all, the world takes all kinds. 

“The roses are lovely,” Yuuri stumbles out. “I had them put in water in my dressing room.”

“The colors made me think of you,” Victor says.

Yuuri turns red and hides his face. “Why are you like this.”

“It’s hereditary,” Victor deadpans. 

Yuuri smiles against his better judgment before he remembers. “Oh — Vicchan! I need to call my dog walker so she can maybe stay over—”

“Ah, about that,” Victor says, just as one of his bodyguards appears with Vicchan in his carrier. He’s let out on the terrace, yipping and excited to not only see Yuuri but Victor. 

Yuuri gives Victor a pointed look. “We may need to discuss you not sending your protectors to break into my house.”

“I’m sorry, it was a spur-of-the-moment choice,” Victor says. He gives Yakov a pointed look like  _ I freaking told you so _ . Yakov shrugs and must roll his eyes behind the aviators given the motion of his head. Victor grumbles. “Can you go?”

Yakov makes an affronted sound, but he does leave along with the others. The terrace by default has to be secure since there’s only one entry point, Yuuri guesses, as he reads too many Tom Clancy novels to be normal. 

“Is this what your life is like?” Yuuri asks after a beat. “You said people treat you differently, but the lack of… privacy, I guess, when you want to spend time with a friend or date...”

“It’s not fun sometimes,” Victor says as he pops the cork on some champagne. Yuuri catches the words  _ Krug _ and  _ 1976 _ on the label, but not much else. Yuuri perches on the couch by the fire after taking his glass, Victor joining him with a platter full of samples of all the food. 

They nibble off it in silence, though it’s oddly comfortable, until Yuuri gets tired of it. It’s a date. He needs to get to know him more. “What do you do for fun, Victor?”

Victor stares off into space. “I like cricket. I like horseback riding. I read a lot, listen to music. I wish I could go to more pop music shows, I end up with no time for it.” Vicchan jumps onto Victor’s lap, and Victor is overjoyed, lavishing him with pets. “And Makkachin.”

Yuuri considers taking a photo, but he recalls the clause about that on the forms. He moves his phone out of easy reach facedown, then commits the sight to memory.

“What about you?” Victor asks. Vicchan snuffles and closes his eyes during some really good scritching. 

“Read. Play video-games. Movies.” Yuuri says. “My best friend runs social media for Madison Square Garden so I go to Knicks or Rangers games for free sometimes.” Yuuri clears his throat. “I also enjoy the perk of the aforementioned pop concerts with free lounge admission as long as it’s not booked.”

Yuuri grabs the abandoned phone again, shooting a text to Phichit.  _ Is the lounge booked for Hugh Jackman? _

Phichit’s reply is lightning quick.  _ I was actually gonna ask if you want in for the Sunday performance since the Met’s dark that night. Just you? _

_ No, I’d like to bring a date, _ Yuuri replies.  _ Is that cool? He’s kind of high profile and GA seats won’t work. _

_ You got it, mate,  _ Phichit replies with several thumbs up and grinning emoji. There’s a 60 second pause before —  _ I’m sorry, did you say high-profile date? _

_ You’re breaking up, I can’t hear you, signing off.  _

_ Yuuri we are  _ **_texting_ ** is the last thing he sees before he powers the phone completely off.

Victor’s expression is confused as he’s frozen mid-sip of his champagne. “What was that?”

Yuuri gives him an off-center grin. “Do you like Hugh Jackman?”

“Who doesn’t?” Victor says with a sigh like a schoolgirl.

Yuuri isn’t offended. “Yeah, same. Anyways, we have lounge tickets for his show this Sunday if you… um, want them.”

Victor lights up with a huge grin. He grabs his own phone and sends a text before shutting it down. “I told Yakov to clear my schedule. He won’t like it, but I don’t care!”

“I probably wouldn’t either,” Yuuri admits. He’s happy to be with Victor, but it hurts too, knowing how lonely he must be. No matter the trappings and luxuries, it’s not much of an actual  _ life  _ he’s led. 

Victor laughs. “You’re very honest. That’s probably why I like you so much.”

Luxurious hotel suite. Vicchan with them so he doesn’t need to cut things off early. Victor is very lovely to look at, and the few kisses and touches have definitely sparked something deep within him. There was a clause in the NDA about not telling people if they bang, Yuuri recalls. He can’t admit he’s here period, but he  _ definitely _ can’t tell anyone if they bang. 

Yuuri edges closer to Victor on the couch, placing a hand on his thigh. He kisses him, and before the heat can build, Victor pushes him back just a little. “Not tonight,” he says.

Yuuri squints, only somewhat because he’s still not wearing his glasses. 

Victor hasn’t let him go, just put him at slightly arm’s length. There’s a metaphor in this choice somewhere, Yuuri decides. “Just… another couple of dates.”

Yuuri isn’t going to argue or protest, because that would make him a douche, but before he can ask why he sees the slight fear in Victor’s eyes. It’s not him. It’s all those other people, the fake friends and the ladder-climbers, the ones desperate for relevancy or a title or endless wealth. The ones who never actually saw Victor the man, just Crown Prince Victor Eleventy Names of Aurifera. “I get it,” Yuuri says. He squeezes one of Victor’s hands. Vicchan continues his peaceful napping nearby. He kisses Victor more chastely the second time. 

The fire has long burned itself out, leaving nothing but glowing embers behind, and the sun has begun its ascent on the horizon when Yuuri and Vicchan head home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The suite is real! [Here is the insane floorplan.](https://www.thenomadhotel.com/new-york/rooms/suite-royale)
> 
> They're so smitten so quickly, I love them.
> 
> If you'd like to get Chapters 4 and 5 before they get posted here, I have the info on my Twitter. ;) Thank you all as always for reading, commenting, kudosing, and telling your friends!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim) | [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com)


	4. Madison Square Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The concert date at the Garden. This fling may become a bit more serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> Playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=5pFFqeI7SVq4sNhuRDfHoA).  
> 

This is only their fourth date, but Yuuri doubts he’ll ever adjust to being flanked by Yakov and Friends. 

Victor picked him up in the town car Yuuri has figured out is reinforced and armored. Auriferan Flags wave in the cool Manhattan air on the four corners of the car, and Yuuri feels very What’s Her Face in that Eddie Murphy movie about the Prince of Zamunda right now.

Yakov is up front behind the partition, so they sort of have some privacy. Yuuri looks down at his outfit — Yakov gave him a dress code for when he’s to be out in public with Victor, and calling it a lot is an understatement. He put on a blazer and a collared shirt because it was the only way he’d be permitted in jeans, and he can’t wear trainers so he’s in a pair of suede boots instead.

Victor’s in a pullover sweater with an oxford shirt and trousers. He looks at Yuuri and smiles. “It’s all I’ve ever known,” he says with a self-deprecating shrug.

Yuuri loosens his collar. “Yeah, that’s fair.” Victor takes his hand, and Yuuri smiles at him. Well. Being overdressed is good if it means more time with Victor, he decides. 

“You should see what I have to do for formal military functions,” Victor continues. “We’re all required to serve in order to take the throne. If it’s a military function, state funeral, or state wedding including my own, I have to wear the dress uniform.”

Yuuri’s brain short circuits. _Victor. In a uniform_ _._ “Huh.”

They pull up at this exact moment to a side entrance for Madison Square Garden. Yuuri almost puts his hand on the door handle when Victor shakes his head a few times. “My guards need to secure the area first.”

“Oh.” Yuuri sits primly with his hands in his lap. 

At least twenty minutes pass before Yakov opens the door, escorting them through secured back hallways and up a service elevator to the lounge.

The… weirdly empty lounge. 

Yuuri is about to ask when a chipper voice says, “Holy shit, your date’s a _literal prince_?”

 Victor swallows down a snort while Yuuri rubs his temples. “Hi Phichit,” Yuuri deadpans.

Phichit has his work phone in one hand as he types furiously on it, his other hand holding a clipboard and two badges with Garden-branded lanyards, his Knicks cap on backwards, and the aura surrounding him simultaneously cheerful and all-business. 

After handing Yuuri the lanyards so they can exit the lounge and be permitted back in with no questions, Phichit turns to Victor. “Prince Victor, it is truly our pleasure to host you tonight. Should you require anything, I’ll be more than happy to make it happen.”

Canapes and crostini sit on silver trays on top of a coffee table with a row of chafing dishes to Yuuri’s right. All of Victor’s entourage is inside the lounge minus two of the bodyguards at two possible entry points: the club level elevator and the door to the lounge. 

“Is champagne available?” Victor asks. 

 Phichit raises an eyebrow with a satisfied smile, tilting his head ever-so to the left. There sits a bucket of about four bottles of Dom chilling for them. 

“You’re wonderful,” Victor says with a sincere smile.

“Anything for Yuuri, and therefore anything for you,” Phichit answers. 

Victor excuses himself to pour the wine, and then it’s like sharks smelling blood in the ocean as Phichit descends on Yuuri. “ _You left out the royalty bit_.”

“I said high profile!” Yuuri argues.

“Not _literally owns a country_ high-profile!” Phichit’s disapproval may as well be a fine objet d’art on display at That Other Met. 

“Technically his mother owns it, I guess,” Yuuri thinks out loud. “He doesn’t get to be in charge until she steps down or dies. Line of succession stuff.”

Phichit makes a noise like a goat being strangled by barbed wire. He pulls out a thick pair of black glasses to check his itinerary, typing one-handed on the phone again. “Lucky for you duty calls,” he says. He pockets the reading glasses and briskly walks to the door. “I’ll pop back in a few times to make sure you’re being taken care of, and if you ever bury the lede on something like this again your death will be neither swift nor painless. See ya.”

“Bye,” Yuuri says with a small grimace.

Victor brings him a glass of bubbly. “Nice chap,” he says. It’s not sarcastic, which is good and also indicative that Victor is an awful judge of character.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. The _Phichit is Actual Satan_ convo is not to be had any sooner than the 90 Days of Victor mark.

The lights dim in the arena, signifying the show is about to start, and Victor gestures for Yuuri to choose where to sit. There are chairs by the front of the lounge with a beautiful view of the whole stage and arena, and Victor looks like a kid on Christmas. 

The lighting changes again, and Hugh Jackman comes out in bespoke Tom Ford glory as he pumps up the crowd with “The Greatest Show.” Victor is completely spellbound, and Yuuri can’t take his eyes off Victor. 

He’s so enthralled, so filled with joy… did he watch Yuuri sing the other night this way? 

Victor makes an utterly delighted and undignified sound when Jackman does “Gaston,” but then the mood becomes jazzier and more downtempo. An old standard fills the room, one that Yuuri has used as an audition piece a time or three, and he gets up. 

The room is essentially theirs, just a private little salon as one of the world’s biggest A-List actors sings his heart out, and Victor takes Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri backseat leads them in a slow dance around the space, careful to avoid banging into the tables or chairs.

 _With each word your tenderness grows, tearin' my fear apart,_  
_And that laugh, wrinkles your nose, touches my foolish heart._  
_Lovely, never, never change, keep that breathless charm —_  
_Won't you please arrange it? 'Cause I love you, a-just the way you look tonight…_

The song changes, but they don’t. Yuuri’s heart is hammering in his chest as they keep dancing like it’s the end of the world. Victor leaves soon, Yuuri realizes. It’s almost time for his goodwill tour to move on. 

Time is cruel, and Yuuri hates it more than he ever has before. 

They spin in circles together through the room, and Victor’s hand on his waist is firm and warm through the layers of his clothing. 

Victor clears his throat. “Yuuri, I— this may be forward—” He stumbles, his voice cutting out, but Yuuri lets him gather his thoughts instead of asking any questions or talking over him. “I’m leaving New York next week, and your show will be closed then, yes?”

“Yeah, Saturday is the last performance,” Yuuri answers.

“My tour is actually stopping at home next,” Victor says. “It’s my mother’s 60th birthday, and there will be a rather grand spectacle as a result. I’d… like to show you my home, since I’ve gotten to experience yours. Vicchan can come also, I can arrange for the paperwork.”

The season ends with _Orfeo_. Yuuri wouldn’t really need to be in New York until they begin casting for the next season. He can keep his voice training up anywhere. 

Most importantly, he’s not ready to say goodbye. It’s like they’re really only just getting to know one another beyond the surface, the charming faces and the witty anecdotes designed to impress. 

“I’d love to,” Yuuri says.

They’re so close Yuuri can feel the tension leave Victor’s back and shoulders.

At some point the concert ended, and the arena lights are back up. It’s so funny how time stops when he’s alone with Victor. Given Victor looks just as surprised as Yuuri feels, it’s safe to assume he feels the same.

They should clear out so Phichit doesn’t have to force them to go home, but Yuuri rises onto the balls of his feet as Victor drops his face so they can kiss. It’s magical, and Yuuri sinks into it.

_This is probably it . Victor’s probably the one ._

Instead of sending Chris more thinly veiled threats, he thinks he should probably write a thank you card this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phichit using the wrong salutation for someone of Victor's status is deliberate before anyone asks.
> 
> Things are heating up in the Opera Singer x Royalty fandom.
> 
> Parts 5 and 6 will be available to some as of tomorrow in advance. Ask me how on my other social media sites.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)


	5. Teterboro Airport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for them to travel to Aurifera.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> Playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=5pFFqeI7SVq4sNhuRDfHoA).  
> 

Yuuri has no idea why he thought they’d go to Laguardia and take a commercial flight, but in his defense it’s four in the morning, he was up packing until one, and there is no coffee anywhere in sight. Vicchan yips in his TSA-approved carrier, sensing adventure is on the horizon if he could just escape his soft, mesh-covered prison Yuuri carries like a duffle bag.

When Yuuri told Phichit he was spending his off-season with Victor in his literal kingdom, Phichit screamed for a solid two minutes before texting Yuuri an iCal appointment for a personal shopping experience at Bergdorf’s with the promise of lunch after.

Yuuri did not waste his time asking why because his clothes were fine. Phichit never thinks Yuuri’s clothing is fine. 

So Yuuri ended up with some outfits that he did have to admit made him look very nice, plus a white tie dinner suit with gloves for state dinners and galas at Yakov’s request, and now he’s trying not to fall into a coma while he’s ushered into a helicopter to Teterboro.

He lowkey wants to die, he’s so tired, but thankfully the helicopter ride is short. Yuuri wonders what is going on in the universe that this is now apparently his life. Like. What? How?

He’s ushered again from the chopper, someone follows behind with his luggage, and the tiredest Yuuri then is shown up a set of stairs onto an executive airliner with the royal crest of Aurifera on the sides painted in gold, navy, and burgundy. 

Yuuri is then shown up yet another flight of stairs inside the plane, and when he finishes ascending, there’s a living room, full walk in closet, fully enclosed bathroom, office area with a desk, and…a bedroom. 

“Morning,” Victor says with a smile. He takes Vicchan from Yuuri, unzipping the carrier after placing it on the ground. Vicchan tentatively pops his head out before becoming emboldened and roaming to explore. “There’s a few patches of faux grass for him to do his business. We always use them with Makkachin.”

Yuuri blearily nods, rubbing one eye under his glasses. 

Victor’s smile softens, filling with more affection than should be allowed so early in the day. “Coffee, energy drink, or bed?”

“If I say the last one, will you join me?” Yuuri mumbles with very little awareness of how forward and blunt it is.

Victor clears his throat. “Um.”

“Oh no, no I mean, will you lie down with me?” Yuuri amends. “Nothing more than maybe cuddling, I’m so freaking tired Victor.”

“Here,” Victor says. He shows Yuuri to the bedroom, pulling all the shades closed even though it’s still dark out. He helps Yuuri take off his sneakers before helping him onto the bed. Yuuri’s halfway out when he feels Victor pull the duvet over his shoulders. 

The jet can do the whole trip without refueling, but Yuuri next comes to somewhere near London. At least, that’s according to the flight trackers on the iPad that lies on the bedside table to his right. 

To his left is a very asleep prince cuddling his equally sleeping dog. Yuuri stares at Victor for a while like a complete creep before he snaps out of it and lies back down so he can slide closer to them. Vicchan stirs a little and rolls so he’s resting by Yuuri’s stomach instead. Victor doesn’t move a muscle. 

Yuuri falls back asleep, but he doesn’t dream. It’s like he’s too content, too pleased with everything in spite of how riddled with panic he’ll be when they land. 

Aurifera has very strict press and paparazzi laws but Victor warned him they may be photographed when they deplane. Yuuri can’t worry about that until it happens so he sleeps like the proverbial dead, basking in the scent of clean bed linens and Victor’s shampoo of choice.

An announcement in Russian blares over the intercom, and Yuuri sits up completely confused. He can feel his face has gotten puffy from sleeping so long at a high altitude and he needs to put on a sheet mask immediately so if he does get photographed he doesn’t look like shit. 

 _This new beau of the Crown Prince is hideous_ , he imagines the Tabloids proclaiming. _Why on Earth would Crown Prince Victor date someone who looks like he runs screaming at the word moisturizer?_

Victor awakens and looks utterly perfect minus a crease in his hair he on the side he slept on. He yawns, sleepily grabbing Yuuri’s hand to give it a squeeze. Yuuri smiles at him because whatever happens from here will be fine as long as they’re together.

In spite of deplaning from an insanely long flight, Yuuri still has to follow the dress code so he swaps sweats for a suit jacket, shirt, tie, and slacks outfit that looks like something no actual human being would ever fly in. Victor also changes into a navy suit with the burgundy and gold sash from all the archive footage Yuuri has absolutely not obsessively watched since their first date.

Yuuri slicks back his hair like he does on stage and puts on a pair of prescription sunglasses because he’s jet lagged. It’s going on 11 at night in Aurifera, but Yuuri is just _not in the mood._  

They land and after the body guards do their job, they’re permitted to deplane with Victor leading, Yuuri behind on the next step with Vicchan in his carrier, and guards behind them, to the left and right, and in front. 

It’s weird. 

It’s really weird, because Yuuri is just a decent opera singer and now he’s exiting a private luxury jet in a foreign Slavic country with DSLRs flashing in his face and off to the distance he sees reporters from BBC, Al-Jazeera, and he guesses the logos he doesn’t recognize are local outlets. 

Victor has to do a dog and pony show as they pass. He answers in Russian, so Yuuri doesn’t know what’s being said basically at all, but he does spot the curious stares. He ducks his face down since he’s not sure if there’s any sort of protocol for his introduction to the citizens or something.

Another city and another armored limo. Yuuri takes off the sunglasses as Victor sighs and undoes the sash as well as his suit buttons. “Yakov, can you do the usual please?”

“Vitya,” Yakov protests before he sighs. “Not worth the pouting.”

The car pulls away from the landing strip and they go towards the palace, Yuuri assumes. Though — there’s a palace in the capital city center and a summer palace according to Wikipedia. Yuuri has no idea which will be housing them.

He also can’t see out the tinted windows and assumes the slowing to a stop is due to traffic. Imagine his surprise when the partition drops and Victor’s handed two paper bags followed by two large bottles of a milky-colored beverage. 

The bag is in Russian, but the bottle labels are in Turkish, Yuuri thinks after some careful study.

Victor opens one, makes a satisfied sound, then passes it to Yuuri. “Yakov just got you my favorite, I hope it’s okay.”

Yuuri opens the bag. It is filled with an obscene amount of döner kebab sandwiches, falafel, and fries. The contents in Victor’s bag are identical, and as he bites into a döner, he sighs and moans like he’s dying of pleasure.

Yuuri clears his throat and looks into his bag again so Victor doesn’t catch the blush across his cheeks.

“I’d run away sometimes,” Victor says as he dips some fries in mayonnaise. “Never got terribly far, because of the guards, but anytime I did after the scolding, Yakov would bring me to Döner King.” He contemplates the memory as he brings his drink to his lips. “He was very kind about not making any sort of fuss about the crying.”

“Crying,” Yuuri says. He takes a sip from his own bottle — it’s like a yogurt drink mixed with carbonated water and mint. It’s both tastier and more refreshing than it looks. He’s suddenly  parched but he doesn’t want to guzzle it in case the ride to the palace is really long. 

“I didn’t want to be a prince as a child,” Victor admits. 

“So many kids want the opposite,” Yuuri says. He thinks about Japan and Empress Masako, how she can’t drive or have a passport. He remembers the sympathy he felt when he learned that she’s had to stay hidden for much of her marriage because of the stress. “If they knew the realities, I bet they’d feel differently.”

“They would,” Victor says. He smiles at Yuuri. “Thank you for not judging me.”

“I never would,” Yuuri says. He should call his mother once they’re unpacking, he decides. He mentioned he wouldn’t be in New York for a while but left out the circumstances because he thought she’d ask too many questions he can’t really answer at this time.

There’s city lights whose twinkling is barely visible through the dark glass, and the limo turns up a side street, rumbling over cobblestones and through rose gardens. The circular driveway in front of the palace is where they park, and Victor exits, jogging to Yuuri’s door and opening it for him like a gentleman. 

Yuuri takes his offered hand and steps foot onto the ground in front of Ariya Palace. It’s large and made of shining white stone. There’s gilded windowsills and from the outside it appears to be four stories high. Other than that, it’s quite austere, and Yuuri is a bit relieved from the observation. 

“Vitya!” A woman’s joyful voice breaks Yuuri out of his thoughts. The woman descending the stairs has Victor’s cheekbones, eye color, and smile. She wears a Chanel suit with her hair arranged in a deceptively-simple updo.

Princess Ekaterina Grace Leopoldovna Romanova Golitsnaya II, the reigning monarch of Aurifera. 

Victor bows. “Your grace.”

“Oh stuff it,” the Princess grumbles. “You haven’t seen me in months, and all I get is _your grace_?”

Victor rises with a laugh as she pulls him into a long bear hug. She whispers something he has to lean down to hear, blushing and clearing his throat with an answer in Russian. 

Yuuri feels awkward, underdressed, and somehow like he’s also using the incorrect fork. 

Victor and his mother break apart, and Victor favors Yuuri with a big smile. “Mamen’ka, this is Katsuki Yuuri of the Metropolitan Opera. Yuuri, this is my mother.”

Yuuri bows like Victor did. “Your grace. I thank you for your invitation.”

“Please rise,” she bids him, and Yuuri does. He doesn’t have anything covering his face now so he sincerely hopes he doesn’t look like a dumpster fire. The Princess takes him in for what feels like an entire week. She tilts her head to one side, and then she looks at Victor. “He’s _incredibly_ cute, Vitya. Don’t screw this up.”

Yuuri’s eyes turn comically wide as Victor sputters with a deep red flush. 

She outstretches her hands and takes Yuuri by his. “Come, Yuuri. We’re happy to have you.” 

Yuuri follows because really what is he going to do? Tell the sovreign ruler of the kingdom he inhabits no? Vicchan was released at some point and he trots beside Yuuri, obviously quite pleased to stretch his legs. They enter a room of portraits and red carpeting, and lying looking bereft is a gray-brown standard poodle. 

Makkachin, Yuuri realizes the same instant the dog moves faster than the speed of light and bowls him to the ground. Vicchan yips out of jealousy or excitement or both, and he hears Victor admonish the dog in Russian and French at the same time. Makkachin is uncaring. Yuuri is not much better off; she’s large enough to treat like a living body pillow. It’s _delightful_. She realizes though that her human is the one telling her to stop, and she tackles him instead. The Princess laughs as Victor fails at pretending to be annoyed with her. “You both must be quite tired,” she says to them. “Your things have been taken to the East Wing, which you’ll have to yourselves.” 

Yuuri feels the embarrassment creep up his face and neck as unpleasant war flashbacks of his college boyfriend’s sister failing to knock during a visit hit him like a train. Victor doesn’t miss a step as he gets off the floor, whistling for Makkachin and Vicchan. “Follow me.” The East Wing is up a grand staircase and may as well have its own zip code. “There’s a master suite, private sauna, library, salon, and kitchens,” Victor expounds. “Everything we need, truly. Our rooms overlook the water features as well as the wisteria. Alas it’s not the right time of year, but —”

“Victor,” Yuuri begins. “Can you give me a proper tour tomorrow morning?”

“I’d like nothing more,” Victor says. He opens a golden door handle and their suite is so posh Yuuri almost pinches himself. 

The bed is huge with a carved, deep blue velvet and golden wood headboard. The whole room is in shades of navy, cream, and gold with a fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the expansive grounds, couches and chairs to lounge in, and through a doorway with a marble arch, a giant en suite bathroom with a freestanding three person tub in the center, a rainfall shower that could fit at least ten, and matching gold and blue vanities meant clearly for a married couple.

There are also dog beds of appropriate sizes that match the decor in front of the fireplace. On a side table between two decadently-soft looking chairs sits a pitcher full of strawberry and blood orange infused water along with an assortment of petits fours, cheese, and fruit. Silk velvet loungewear is draped over the bed for them both. 

It’s frankly an insane amount of luxury and pampering. Victor takes his set and smiles. “I’d like a proper bath and sleep, if you’re okay with that?”

Yuuri’s parents run a bathhouse in Japan. He hasn’t had a real soak since the last time he visited nine months ago. The mere suggestion makes him weak in the knees. “Can I join you?” he asks.

Victor raises an eyebrow. 

“Not…like that,” Yuuri clarifies. “If you don’t want things to happen, they won’t I promise. I just…want a bath too and it’s large enough we can both fit. It’s fine if you’re not comfortable with it, though.”

There’s an almost imperceptible relaxing in Victor’s back. “Okay. I’d like that.”

Yuuri helps him draw the bath with Victor bringing in the water and treats, and then Yuuri turns his back while he undresses so Victor doesn’t feel any sort of pressure. It must work because he hears him get into the water, and then Yuuri follows suit. 

Victor’s eyes stay above his waist, but the look in them changes and Yuuri feels better now that he has some kind of proof it’s not an attraction thing. Not that he didn’t believe Victor when he asked to take it slow, but being wanted’s a lovely feeling even if there’s no action taken. 

“The next day or two will be quiet, but after that,” Victor says. “There’s going to be times where I’ll have to fulfill obligations and you may not be able to stand with me.”

Yuuri nods. “That’s fine. I get it.”

“I can’t really say we’re dating yet either,” Victor says. “Not until there’s a press release.”

“Mm,” Yuuri replies. “Is that why I can’t put you on Instagram? Besides the geotagging, I mean.”

“Yes,” Victor says. “Sorry. I’d love to be in your selfies together, but it’s an etiquette breech as much as a security one.”

As he smiles and nods, Yuuri does feel a little sad. He doesn’t really want to post photos of Victor, but he’d like to just have them.

“Thank you for being willing to do this,” Victor says. “I wasn’t ready to miss you as much as I knew I would. I wasn’t ready to end things.”

“I’m not either,” Yuuri admits. He takes a chance, moving across the tub and kisses Victor soundly on his lips. Not passionately, not as foreplay, but just as a _thank you, I feel the same_.

It must get across because Victor kisses him back, and Yuuri decides that has been raised from a thank you card to three dozen roses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning at last.
> 
> Next update brings about the rating change to E.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)


	6. The East Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri makes the acquaintance of Duke Pilsetsky. 
> 
> Then he bonds a little more deeply with Victor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> Playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=5pFFqeI7SVq4sNhuRDfHoA).  
> 

Sunlight along with actual birdsong wake Yuuri the next day.

Well, birdsong is being kind.

Some kind of horrid screaming jolts him upright. It’s like someone is skinning a cat alive. It is without a doubt the worst thing Yuuri has ever heard, including Satō Kimiko genuinely believing she was a mezzo soprano, bless her. “What the hell is that?”

Victor yawns and stretches like it’s a simple alarm. Makkachin barely twitches, Vicchan begins barking like it’s going out of style. “The peacocks.”

Yuuri stares at the windows with utter confusion. “Peacocks.”

“Yes,” Victor says. He sits up and stretches a second time. 

“Peacocks make sounds,” Yuuri continues.

“Yes,” Victor answers. 

“Peacocks not only make sounds, they make _those_ sounds?” Yuuri asks in utter disbelief. They’re gorgeous and they sound like drunk marine life screaming for their dinner at an aquarium.

“Just during mating season,” Victor explains as if that solves everything ever somehow. “It’s only about four months of the year; the other eight they tend to be much quieter.”

“You live like this?” Yuuri asks with unrelenting dismay. 

Victor laughs. He looks boyish in the early flax-colored sunlight and his navy and cream pajamas. Yuuri feels something catch in his heart and before he thinks twice, he pulls Victor close for a good-morning kiss. 

He’s acutely aware they’re in bed together, so he keeps it simple, just a soft touch of his lips to Victor’s that lasts more than a second or two. He half expects Victor to push him away, but this time he holds Yuuri close, allowing them to settle in a comfortable, romantic caress.

Victor’s kiss feels as good as the bath did the night before. It feels like smelling salt air, like hanging an ema inscribed with a special wish on a shrine, like fresh buri sashimi and katsudon in frying oil that’s about to be plated… Victor feels like _home_. 

They break the kiss, and Victor tucks a piece of Yuuri’s hair behind his ear. His thumb strokes the side of Yuuri’s neck after, and Yuuri counts the stars in his eyes. Victor kisses him a second time, and it’s a little less soft, a little more insistent. 

Yuuri definitely doesn’t mind.

The kiss keeps going, and at some point Yuuri realizes it’s less kissing, more making out and while in theory this is just awesome… they’re still in the bed. Victor said he didn’t want to rush things, but they’re definitely making out in a bed. 

Yuuri puts his hands on Victor’s biceps. “Um.”

Victor pulls back, clearing his throat with a red face. “Sorry. I was carried away.”

“You can be carried away, if you want,” Yuuri offers. “I just didn’t know if you’d changed your mind about this and wanted to check in.”

“…Maybe a little,” Victor admits with a sheepish smile. “We have true privacy for the moment, and I’m very… well, I’m not foolish enough to resist you.”

Yuuri bites his bottom lip and moves back into kissing range. “Oh?”

Victor elects to answer with another kiss, and Yuuri lets go of any sort of worry about propriety or slow burns. He begins the task of unbuttoning Victor’s sleep top when the door is quite literally kicked open and he shrieks as a voice somewhere between diffident and furious yells, **“Victor, you ass!”**

Victor favors the person with a bored, empty smile. “Hello, Yuri.”

Yuuri desperately longs for a paper bag to breathe in. He is afforded nothing of the kind as he looks at the five-foot-four teen of an indeterminate age with blond hair down to his shoulders, green eyes full of disdain, and a figure that can’t weigh more than eighty pounds soaking wet.

The kid (because that’s truly what he is) gives Yuuri a look filled with veiled interest, but he turns irritated glowering onto Victor. “Really?”

Victor’s smile tightens. “Cousin Yuri, this is Katsuki Yuuri. He is my special guest for the festivities.” The smile somehow loses more humor even though it already has none. “And you will treat him with respect.”

“He can’t also be a Yuri,” Victor is informed. “I was here first, and I’m next in line after you for the throne. It’s ridiculous.”

“Duke Plisetsky,” Yuuri says with recognition. “I didn’t recognize you, all of your photos on Wikipedia are out of date, to say the least.”

“Yeah, I keep bitching at the staff to change them,” Duke Plisetsky answers. “Somehow every time they do, they revert back to me when I was ten.”

Victor seems suddenly riveted by his manicure.

“The bowl cut wasn’t bad on you,” Yuuri adds before immediately wincing. Why is awkward his dominant trait?

“Bowl cuts are bad on everyone, man,” Duke Plisetsky says. 

“It’s true,” Victor says. “I avoided the issue by growing my hair long throughout my youth. At least, until the National Council insisted I cut it. They passed a law and everything.”

It’s odd how Victor’s voice and posture don’t actually change, but Yuuri can still see and hear how bitter he is. “Victor—”

“It’s fine,” Victor tells him with a smile. “It’s part and parcel of the life I live.”

It’s definitely not fine, but now’s not the time, Yuuri decides. He just puts a hand on Victor’s shoulder to try and offer some comfort. 

“Ugh,” Duke Plisetsky complains. “No one told me you were bringing a concubine, but at least it explains why you didn’t say hi before bed last night.”

Yuuri makes an offended noise as Victor’s expression turns ice cold. He says something in Russian that on the surface is polite, but there’s a layer of thick steel in the words undermining the veneer. Duke Plisetsky snipes back at him, and they have a back and forth until the Duke sighs. 

“Sorry I called you a concubine, I guess,” he says, swapping back to English. 

“…Sure,” Yuuri replies. “Apology accepted.”

Duke Plisetsky rolls his eyes. “See you at lunch.” He flounces out of their suite in his multi-colored glitter trainers and metallic pullover jumper with a giant green-eyed roaring tiger on the front. 

His clothing is the only thing louder than he is, Yuuri can’t help but think.

The Duke had the kindness to shut the doors on his way out, and Victor gives Yuuri a real smile, not those hideous false ones he just offered. “The mood is likely killed,” Victor says with a penitent expresion.

“Not completely,” Yuuri says with a playful voice. 

“…Do tell.” Victor says. He moves back into Yuuri’s bubble, which is where Yuuri wants him. 

“It was, like, 80% killed,” Yuuri says. “And that 20% can gain back momentum fairly quick.”

Victor smiles and takes the shot, kissing Yuuri again. This time Yuuri feels like there’s very little, if anything, holding him back, and Yuuri deepens the kiss. Victor makes a sound that seems like approval, and somehow Yuuri ends up on his back underneath him against the 2000 count sheets. 

It’s unhurried, which is very nice indeed, and Yuuri makes quick work of the buttons so he can feel Victor’s actual skin. It’s pretty skin, pale with freckles across his collarbone and well-defined muscles he must work very diligently on with what little time he has. Victor’s clever hands have found their way up the back of Yuuri’s top and he dips his head low to kiss a spot on the side of Yuuri’s neck. 

They take their time, using their hands and mouths to learn even more new things about one another. Victor is very careful not to leave any marks where someone could see, which Yuuri wishes wasn’t necessary. He enjoys learning that Victor’s hair is as soft as it appears, the strands sliding through his fingers like spun silk. 

Yuuri shifts a little and he can feel Victor’s reaction to their current activities. It makes him smile as he kisses Victor on the mouth again, raising his hips upward just an inch or two so Victor can feel that he’s also enjoying this quite a bit.

He is for sure; Victor’s good with his hands and an excellent kisser, he’s beautiful, he smells incredible, and it’s been a while since Yuuri’s felt he had someone’s attention this intensely. He wants to be swept away by this, by Victor and the hesitant way he asks for more from Yuuri. 

Allowing his hands to drop to the waistband of Victor’s pajama bottoms, Yuuri asks, “Is this okay?” 

Victor moves so he’s directly in between Yuuri’s thighs. The fabric is too much, too hot, as Yuuri can feel Victor’s cock against his own only separated by that barrier. “Yes,” Victor answers. 

Yuuri smiles, and then he rolls so he ends up on top. Victor’s momentary surprise gives way to lustful delight. Yuuri rears back to pull off his shirt, and Victor does the same, lifting his back just enough to toss the offending garment aside. Victor smiles at Yuuri wickedly as he shucks off his pants too, and Yuuri grins down at him. “If you insist, Your Highness.”

Victor’s expression flattens. He looks lost, utterly so. “Please don’t.”

Yuuri winces. “Sorry, I was… it doesn’t matter what I was doing. I’m sorry, Victor.” There’s a visible lowering of the defenses that just went up, and Victor reaches up, pulling Yuuri down by his shoulders. He buries his face in the crook of his neck. Yuuri runs a hand through his hair to scratch his nails across his nape. He kisses the crown of Victor’s head. “You’re not a title. Not when we’re alone. Not to me.”

Arms wrap tightly around him. “Okay.”

Yuuri hums, trying to think of a way to fix the atmosphere. “I think I killed 96.8% of the mood with that.”

Victor laughs into his skin. “I appreciate the specifics of that number.”

“I’m fond of it, too,” Yuuri admits. “Fond of some other stuff also. Like dogs, that lamb in your suite that one night, Renee Fleming, but most of all, _you_.”

Victor lifts his head to Yuuri, reaching up to brush the fringe off Yuuri’s forehead. He spends a while looking into his eyes, and Yuuri lets him find what he needs. Victor is apparently successful, because he rises up to kiss Yuuri once more.

Understanding this for the sign it is, Yuuri’s hands find their way back to Victor’s hips. They’re covered only by a pair of black briefs, nice ones given how soft the fabric is, and Yuuri pulls the elastic waist down just enough to free Victor’s still interested erection. Victor follows suit, drawing down Yuuri’s pajama bottoms and boxers in tandem. 

They’re in the middle of the damn bed that’s the size of the jet they flew here, and Yuuri has no idea what’s available to them as lubricant. There’s some in his bags, but they may as well have been sent to the moon, and frankly he doesn’t want a _third_ interruption. So he elects to stop kissing Victor, lick his hand an awful lot, and then he wraps it around Victor’s cock, stroking it experimentally twice.

Victor’s breath hitches, his teeth worrying his bottom lip, and then he does the same as Yuuri, wetting a hand with his spit and stroking. Yuuri huffs a little laugh while Victor bites back a moan. They kiss and neck like teenagers while they stroke and palm each other’s cocks, the kissing growing sloppy, their breaths becoming shallow, and at some point Yuuri realizes when he kisses Victor’s neck or shoulders it’s tangy with his sweat. 

God, he’s so close already and it’s barely anything. Yuuri rolls his hips up into Victor’s fist, Victor’s free hand covering Yuuri’s on his cock to encourage he move it faster and harder. Yuuri pants, whining just once as he comes first. He’s floating in the clouds like always from his release, but not without a little shock since he usually outlasts his partners. 

Though it’s only a moment later that Victor spills over his hand and a hushed “Yuuri” slipping out of his mouth. 

Wow, he really likes hearing Victor say his name like that. 

A _lot_.

Though, once again there’s nothing nearby to wipe their hands or anything. Yuuri’s also not sure about the discretion of the royal laundry staff, because their bedclothes are absolutely dry clean only and they are soiled, to put it mildly.

More on that later, Yuuri decides as Victor kisses him again. They’ll have to stop soon, to shower and put on regalia for the opening lunch of the Princess’s birthday celebrations. They will likely have to stand a respectable distance apart, and Victor will have to answer a lot of questions of the press, and Yuuri will nod and smile when he’s cued to. Flashbulbs from DSLRs will hinder their ability to see, Yuuri will have to recall which fork to use when, and Victor will have that stilted smile Yuuri now has memorized from the media coverage of Aurifera from the last four years or so. 

Victor’s mood palpably shifts for the worse, and Yuuri knows it’s because he realizes it too. The privacy is just about gone until they retire for bed. Prince Victor of Aurifera will be taking center stage, and the Victor that Yuuri is every moment more in love with will disappear.

At this particular moment, Yuuri isn’t sure if he wants to thank Chris, throttle him, or both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Yurio, his outfit can be seen on the Bergdorf Goodman site. Sweater is Gucci, sneakers are McQueen.
> 
> Peacocks really do make terrible sounds. None were harmed in the making of this.
> 
> Feel free to swing by my other sites and say hi!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)


	7. The Palace Stables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The luncheon that opens Princess Ekaterina's birthday festivities goes off without incident.
> 
> The High Tea afterwards however...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> Playlist on [Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=m2epRuAnQkORtaBpr3mvpg)

The opening lunch for her Majesty’s birthday celebration has only been going for forty minutes, and Yuuri is both exhausted and in pain from smiling. He’s introduced to people whose titles or names he can’t possibly recall. Victor recites each one with a stilted smile and a polite hand on his elbow. Yuuri, for now, is a _close friend_ of the Crown Prince. 

Every time Victor says the phrase he looks like he’s choking, and every time Yuuri hears it, his smile stings that much worse.

Eventually Victor is called away, and Yuuri makes sure there’s no cameras on him as he sighs, frowns, and grabs a flute of the pale green national beverage of Aurifera. Their chief exports are technology-based as well as certain fibers and fertilizers, but they have a particular strain of yellow grape they’re known for. The drink is a punch of their juice alongside some fresh lime juice and muddled mint, hence the light green color. It’s a bit sweet for Yuuri’s palate, but he’s grateful for it as he watches Victor make the rounds.

“Miserable, isn’t he?” chirps Duke Plisetsky to his right. He’s got a sash over his suit like Victor does, though his has fewer medals attached. Probably an age thing, or maybe since he’s of a lower rank.

“Yeah,” Yuuri says, because why beat around the bush? 

The Duke gives Yuuri a sideways look. “Yeah, he’s never liked this stuff. I think if he could hide in the palace and just be a philanthropist, he’d be a lot happier.”

Yuuri nods, though he’s more than a little surprised to hear the young Duke say so. It’s quite more observant and insightful than he’d assume from the crass teen who kicked a door open and called him a concubine mere hours ago. It’s also a bit surprising to hear it said so concretely. Victor definitely seems to hate this dog-and-pony show part of his life, but when he discusses his humanitarian efforts he lights up like Paris at night. 

The lunch itself will begin shortly, or at least he assumes as they’re being shown to seats around the grand dining table. There’s gold and fine porcelain everywhere, and Yuuri is grateful he’s not usually clumsy. The luncheon meal is mostly platters of fresh white cheese and cold, smoked meats with slices of a sour rye bread. Victor shows Yuuri how to assemble a type of open-faced sandwich, and while Yuuri would perhaps not order this in a restaurant, it’s not bad. After half of one sandwich, he leans into Victor’s ear. “Are you okay?”

Victor gives him the first genuine smile since their arrival. “Later.”

The chatter is mostly of politics, though as Yuuri hasn’t had time to learn beyond casual Russian or Belarusan, it’s difficult to really say. It seems inoffensive enough, but Victor is visibly bored or annoyed by the topics, only rarely offering a single word comment when asked for his thoughts. Yuuri tries again. He hates to see him like this. “Will Makkachin and Vicchan be okay?”

Victor smiles again. “They’re likely being walked by the lake on the property, so I would imagine so. Makkachin loves swimming in it even when it’s cold out. The royal groomer pretends to be more frustrated than she actually is.”

Yuuri laughs. “Oh, Vicchan will be right by Makkachin’s side, much to the groomer’s annoyance. He doesn’t get to be off leash or outside nearly enough. I don’t get to any of the parks much, unfortunately.”

“We do our best, but we don’t deserve them,” Victor replies. It’s so much more the Victor Yuuri is used to, he can’t help but stealthily squeeze his thigh under the table. Victor only acknowledges it with a slight change to his smile. It becomes almost imperceptibly soft, and Yuuri hopes his own reflects a similar sentiment.

The lunch takes at least three hundred years, and they’re at loose ends until high tea, which sounds slightly more painful than a proper Shinto tea ceremony, where Yuuri felt he’d need to have his legs amputated from sitting on them for so long. Yuuri guesses as long as they have good sandwiches the tea will be fine. He did the whole touristy Russian Tea Room thing when he first moved to New York. It was fine. More vodka than he expected was on the menu, that was his primary takeaway.

The cameras follow the Princess and some of the lesser royals out, and Victor’s face stops having a pained pinch between his brows. “Tour of the grounds?”

“Please,” Yuuri says. 

Victor smiles, taking his arm, and they exit onto a large balcony, and then down some stairs to lush grass and incredible flower beds as far as Yuuri can see. The weather is sunny and milder than he’d expect given the geographical location, though he does know they have very long, snowy winters lasting until as late as March or April. Still, this fall day is crisp without being cold, and Victor leads him under a pergola covered in blush-colored and lavender wisteria for the occasion. The colors fade into each other like some kind of magical gradient, and Yuuri thinks fondly of spring in Japan when their wisteria blooms with this same abundance. 

They don’t talk often, Victor occasionally pointing out a sculpture or water feature with Yuuri asking questions. There are stables ahead, and Victor grows more animated. “Do you like horses, Yuuri?”

“Not as much as dogs, but they’re okay,” Yuuri offers. “Why?”

Victor’s smile brightens. He tugs on Yuuri’s hand, and they end up inside the stables. Victor exchanges some quick words with the stablehands, and then an English-style saddle and tack is placed on a Palomino mare. Victor says something very soft in her ear while petting her mane, and then he leads her outside with Yuuri in tow. 

“Victor?” Yuuri asks.

Victor smiles, nodding his head towards the horse. He holds out a hand and as Yuuri takes it, he’s lifted up into the saddle at the front. Victor expertly gets behind him; once they’ve settled, he says a command, and the horse begins a slow canter away from the barn. Victor presses into Yuuri’s back, his arms tightly around him while he controls the reins, and Yuuri just knows his face is the same shade of red as a Ferrari. 

_Cause of death: fatal dose of romance administered by his literal Prince boyfriend_ , his obit will surely read tomorrow.

They’re probably still on the palace grounds. It’s possible they’re in Russia now. For all Yuuri cares, they’ve plumb run off to Spain or Estonia or back to America even. Victor eventually gives another command, and the horse slows to a walk. He pulls the reins and she stops completely in a field full of blue flax flowers. Victor dismounts first, gallantly helping Yuuri do the same, and before Yuuri can ask, he takes his face in his hands to kiss him. Yuuri’s heart swells eight or nine sizes. He winds his hands into Victor’s hair, trying to pray to whatever god eavesdropping on them to let the moment last forever.

It doesn’t, of course, but the memory will, and when they break apart Victor sheepishly laughs. “Sorry. I just… it’s hard to follow protocol so relentlessly.”

Yuuri thinks about how his jaw began to ache a bit from holding it so stiffly while smiling politely for more or less three hours. “I get it.”

Laughing a little, Victor then bends down and picks two dozen of the flowers. He holds them out to Yuuri with his head bowed. “Milord.”

Unable to keep from laughing himself, Yuuri leaps so he ends up tackling Victor, and they fall into a heap in the grass. He seizes the opportunity to bend down and kiss Victor again, who makes a delighted shriek into his mouth. Yuuri breaks the kiss to look down at Victor, who is all smiles and sunshine, with broken strands of grass in his hair and dirt on his bespoke suit. 

Yuuri breaks from his own protocol, because old standards and opera yes, pop not as much. “Anyway, the thing is, what I really mean— yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen,” he sings.

Victor’s laughter stops abruptly, and his eyes look a bit wet. 

“They’re definitely blue, though,” Yuuri says. “I don’t think I could forget even if I wanted to.”

“I think I love you,” Victor blurts.

“That’s sung by a different 70s pop icon, but—” Yuuri trails off.

Wait. 

Shit. 

“Oh!” Yuuri smiles, and God what is happening in the world this is true? “I love you, too.”

Victor pulls him down by the nape into more kissing. There’s nothing to lie on, neither of them brought any supplies, and they have tea fairly soon besides, so they shouldn’t anyways, Yuuri laments as they do nothing else but kiss for maybe an hour or so. Maybe it’s longer, but he doesn’t really care. He didn’t bring his phone since they’re not allowed at these functions, and Victor doesn’t have one either, just his analog watch. Yuuri doesn’t care at all, since they had plenty of time when they took the ride out here. 

At some point, Victor makes a pained sound and pushes Yuuri back just a hair. “We should head back. We can’t be late.”

Yuuri feels a bit of beard burn on one side of his jawline. Victor’s hair is unsalvageable without styling products, between the twigs and the damage wrought by Yuuri’s hands. His lips are kiss-swollen, too. He’s so insanely beautiful, and Yuuri hates this stupid itinerary because all he wants to do is lock the door to their suite and keep Victor in bed for days. Their horse has stayed nearby grazing and enjoying her freedom, so Victor again helps Yuuri up so they can ride back. They go at a gallop this time to play things safe, but it’s only then Yuuri notices the sun is a little low for afternoon tea. It’s almost winter, he decides, and Aurifera doesn’t have anything like Daylight Savings Time. They’re fine.

Victor and Yuuri dismount, the stable hands putting up the mare after they give her some sugar cubes as a thank you. They walk briskly back to the palace, and only then does Victor check his watch. His face grows wan. “Oh no,” he offers flatly.

“Are we a little behind?” Yuuri asks. Victor begins to actually run, so Yuuri follows suit. It frankly sucks to run in dress brogues but them’s the breaks today.

“We’re—” Victor doesn’t get to finish as they bolt into the tea room. 

Which is empty, minus the detritus of the actual tea. Pots and half-full porcelain cups, crusts from sandwiches, remnants of cakes and pastries, and a Princess clearing her throat behind them. Yuuri longs for a sinkhole to open up beneath him, but she’s honestly just amused. Duke Plisetsky is to her right, and he’s caught somewhere between rolling his eyes and openly laughing. 

The dude to her left, though, whose glaring, beady eyes could shoot lasers… he’s a different story. “I’d hoped,” he begins in English that’s barely accented, “That you’d grown up on your tour, Highness.”

The word _Highness_ is so full of contempt, Yuuri instinctively moves in front of Victor to protect him. 

Princess Ekaterina rolls her eyes. “Oh don’t be so stroppy, Minister. They’re in love.” She gives Victor a look of sympathy. “Please be more prompt next time, Vitya.”

Victor bows. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Yuuri echoes his movements and words. When he rises, he makes eye contact with the man, who looks like he’d burn Yuuri’s house down as soon as say hello. Jesus.

Princess Ekaterina and the angry guy leave, with Duke Yuri staying behind. “You’ve got like straw in your hair, dude,” he says to Yuuri with a snort. “You’re just a mess like always, Victor.”

“What was his problem anyhow?” Yuuri asks. He’s not accusatory, just confused. Okay, they missed tea, but is it really that bad? There’s got to be a hundred functions while he’s here for the Princess’s birthday.

“Minister Masiuk is the head of our government,” Victor explains. “Aurifera is a constitutional monarchy, but the Minister of State is subordinate only to my mother, and acts as our primary representative for foreign relations. He commands our police in addition to our armed forces, and he is the leader of our executive services as well.”

“He’s been on Victor’s ass since he was fourteen,” Duke Yuri says with a cynical grin. “He’s the guy who wrote the haircut law, among other things. He’s really uptight about what’s proper for the heir to do or look like.”

Yuuri’s face falls. He looks at Victor, whose earlier frustration has returned tenfold. “Propriety doesn’t include romantic horseback rides during state functions, I guess.”

“Among other things,” Victor answers, his voice tight.

Yuuri touches his back. “We’ll be more careful from here on out. I don’t want to make trouble.”

“You aren’t,” Victor says. 

“I am, though,” Yuuri replies. “We’ll pay more attention.”

Victor nods. He takes Yuuri’s hand, before giving his cousin a stilted smile. “We’ve had a long day, so if you’ll pardon us—”

Duke Yuri rolls his eyes. “You’re not fooling anybody.”

“I’m not trying to,” Victor deadpans. “Yuuri.”

Yuuri smiles, allowing Victor to lead him since he’s still not able to find his own ass in this palace. They show themselves to their wing, bar any other entry to the bedroom suite, and are greeted by freshly-groomed poodles of both large and small sizes. Victor opens the flue and turns on a fire, and then pulls Yuuri into a cuddle pile on a settee with Makkachin and Vicchan. 

Everything feels heavy and too serious, Yuuri thinks, compared to the joy of a few hours ago. As if he’s psychic, Victor says, “I’ll be fine in a bit, I promise. I’m pretty used to it, actually.”

Yuuri kisses his cheek, settling back into place with Makkachin over their knees and Vicchan at their feet. For the first time, the cracks in this fairy tale façade impact him beyond the look in Victor’s eyes when he’s called by his title. 

Yuuri is just about positive he absolutely hates it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot has thickened! *ominous organ music*
> 
> The romance has deepened! *lilting harp music*
> 
> [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)


	8. The East Wing II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A noticeable shift has happened since they messed up the day of the tea, but it's nothing that can't be salvaged with a little talking, a little music, and some [redacted.]
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter is NSFW._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
> Updated Playlist on [Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=rpKcJ-lhQ2Kw3hvQAFZhjg)

The next few days go better than the end of the first one, with Victor and Yuuri showing up early instead of merely on time for every speech, cocktail hour, party, brunch, and event in-between. 

Well, in some ways they’ve gone better.

Yuuri sits on the bed in their suite thumbing through a book. It’s not really just _any_ book, it’s the National Novel of Aurifera: as lengthy as _The Brothers Karamazov_ but with more romance and less postulating about the role God plays in free will, _A Blue Rose Blooms in January_ is taught in schools and widely beloved by its people along the same lines as _Genji Monogatari_ is back home. 

He’s about a third of the way through the adventures of the beleaguered and unhappy Prince Fyodor who is in an arranged betrothal to a suitable Baroness. His passion is moved by an actor named Dmitri — unfortunately Dmitri is regarded by the high court as a bad influence thanks to his profession. 

Yuuri doesn’t know how it ends, but he hopes love wins.

The shower is running in their en suite. Yuuri looks in that direction and sighs. When he returns to the novel, he realizes he’s reread the same paragraph for fifteen minutes. With a sigh, Yuuri marks his page and puts it down.

Victor has backed away in some ways but stayed close in others since The Tea Incident. He holds Yuuri while they sleep, but he doesn’t do _anything else_ when they’re alone. Things were going well, they were getting closer, but it’s like Victor backslid after the mess from the other day. 

Yuuri picks a song on his phone and plays it through the room’s bluetooth speakers. It’s “Viens, Mallika…Dôme épais” from _Lakmé_ , and Yuuri lies on his back like a starfish as the women begin to sing. 

Yuuri finds himself idly singing along with the mezzo-soprano half of the duet, though he does not imagine domes of jasmine so much as a field of blue flowers that he and Victor spent hours kissing in. Birdsong filters in through the window — actual birdsong, not the peacock version of Tinder. 

“That’s very beautiful. It's also impressive you’re on pitch while lying down,” Victor says when the duet is complete.

 Yuuri looks sideways at him over the top of his glasses. He clears his throat. “Thanks.”

As he towel dries his hair, Victor sits next to Yuuri on the bed in the navy loungewear. Yuuri fights the urge to draw him down for a kiss. Today’s event is solely a cocktail hour and dinner with a short performance by Yo-Yo Ma in between, so they have seriously eight hours to themselves before it’s time to get pressed and polished.

And Victor may as well be on another planet with the distance he’s put between them.

Yuuri rolls onto his side so his back faces Victor. The opera continues in the background. Victor sighs as the bed dips with his full weight, and Yuuri feels a hand rest on his upper back between his shoulders. It’s not comforting, it’s not seductive, it’s just…there.

Victor sighs a second time. “I don’t know what to do.”

Yuuri’s head slightly angles towards him, but he immediately returns to staring at the wall. 

“I can’t anger the Council during this event,” Victor says. “It will land poorly on Mamen’ka, as well as myself when I ascend to the throne.” Yuuri can hear the weariness in Victor’s voice. “I’ve been so much trouble for her, for Yakov…I forgot the stress I often cause them. I can’t cause more.”

Yuuri pulls away from his hand. “Okay.”

The silence doesn’t last terribly long as Victor’s next words sound a bit watery. “Is this when you ask to get off the ride like you said in New York?”

It’s hard to say, so Yuuri doesn’t answer. 

“Yuuri,” Victor pleads. “Do you think we should end this?”

His eyes begin to sting. He doesn’t, not yet, and if they did, he’d still love Victor anyways. “No.”

“Okay then, I don’t know what to say,” Victor admits after a beat.

“Do you have to be like this when we’re alone?” Yuuri blurts. He cringes, because he’s being childish. The room is silent for so long that Yuuri rolls over to look at Victor in case he may have actually left. 

Victor’s expression is slightly wounded and mostly pensive. “I don’t...I didn’t _mean_ to.”

“Well, you have.” Yuuri’s voice isn’t cruel or angry. It’s a flat statement of this shitty new reality.

Victor bites his bottom lip, before grabbing a tub of Chanel lip balm, dipping his finger in it, and moisturizing his lips. “Should now be when I admit you’re the one man I’ve ever loved or even been serious enough about to introduce to my mother?”

Well. Victor had Yuuri’s interest, but now he has his attention. “What?”

“I’d had…brief partners, to put it kindly I suppose, before,” Victor continues. “But not anything meaningful or real. Too much…” He gestures. _Dishonesty_. _Manipulation._ _Being used_. All of these go unsaid, but they don’t need to be spoken for Yuuri to get it. “I’ve wanted things to last, but you make me feel like it actually can this time and I’m scared of it, especially after the way Masiuk  looked at us together. He’s never liked any sort of individuality in me.”

 _Haircut law_ , Yuuri thinks. He’s seen the photos of a smiling, spritely 17-year old Victor with hair below his waist. He was lovely, and that man _ruined_ it, the following year’s portrait containing the visage of a Crown Prince Victor with close-cropped silver hair and a smile devoid of any liveliness.

Yuuri would sort of like to punch Masiuk, and by _sort of_ , he means _multiple times until he drops_. What a monster. “Can you be yourself when we’re alone, or can you at least try to? I understand why you feel the way you do, I would too, but I don’t like the distance between us.”

Victor unscrews the top of the lip balm a second time. Then he lovingly draws a fingertip’s worth over Yuuri’s own lips. Yuuri flushes, not in a small part due to the sudden intimacy he’s craved for half a week. 

He takes this as an opening, sliding over the bed covers to Victor before burying his face in his neck. Victor wraps his arms around him, and Yuuri breathes him in, the scent of those blue cornflowers that make up part of the signature scent in their shared toiletries here. Victor’s left hand rubs against Yuuri’s bare skin where his t-shirt has ridden up, and it shockingly acts as a potent turn on. 

They’ve only had sex once, and Yuuri’s been longing for more, to learn Victor’s every physical inch as intimately as possible, and the end result is that he’s basically become sixteen on a bed with a boy for the first time again. He’s half hard from smelling Victor, being held by Victor, being barely touched by Victor, and he can feel how red his face must be. “Sorry,” he stutters into Victor’s velvet night shirt. 

“I’m not bothered,” Victor replies. “I quite like it, actually.”

Yuuri swallows, trying to summon the boldness from the other day. 

It’s unnecessary, as Victor changes their position so Yuuri now lies on his back with 190 centimeters of beautiful prince pressing him down into the plush mattress. Victor reaches down, plucking Yuuri’s glasses from his face to deposit them on one of their bedside tables for safety purposes. Then he drops his face to bestow upon Yuuri the kiss of the century. It’s like crashing waves against the shoreline, like a perfect violet sunset, and Yuuri loses himself in the reassurance that fills them both where their mouths meet. Victor kisses with this combination of abandon and consideration that leaves Yuuri mewling a little into his lips.

Yuuri feels rather than sees Victor pull down, kiss the underside of his jawline. He shaved, Yuuri notes as his silky-smooth cheek and chin drag over Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri chooses to just close his eyes and let go, and he’s rewarded with his shirt being rucked up to his armpits. 

The velvet shirt Victor still wears slides over his bare skin followed by wet, hot kiss over his ribcage and then down the middle of his torso to his navel. He gasps when the velvet brushes over his sensitive sides behind Victor’s hands as he plays some kind of cartographer to Yuuri’s undiscovered hills and valleys.

Victor’s clever mouth drives slowly towards Yuuri’s sweatpants, and Yuuri fights the urge to beg or shove his face into his groin. 

It’s just plain _rude_ to be so demanding. 

At some point, Victor pulled off his pants like a magician with a tablecloth and sixteen pieces of fine china, and now for his next trick, Yuuri _will_ open his eyes as Victor’s gripped his hips hard enough to bruise, restraining him down as he opens his mouth to suck Yuuri through the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs.

This is the most gorgeous thing he’s ever witnessed, Victor on his knees between his thighs like he’d happily die there if asked to, and Yuuri has to fight the urge to scream or come or both. The playlist has cycled back to Delibes, Yuuri dimly notes as he giggles thanks to their position and the translation of _Viens, descendons ensemble._

Victor knows French also, Yuuri realizes or remembers or both as he snorts into an open-mouthed kiss on Yuuri’s left thigh. He bites after, soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue, and God, how Yuuri longs to film this, to immortalize it until the digital decay sets in and then perhaps commission some kind of boudoir painting for his eyes only.

After removing the barrier that is Yuuri’s underwear, Victor then puts his ankles on his shoulders with the velvet of the nightshirt rubbing against Yuuri’s skin as he does as Lakme instructs, taking them both down together. 

It is instantly the best head Yuuri has ever received, not just due to the novelty of the Crown Prince of Aurifera sucking his cock. It’s the best because of how worshipful Victor is, of how at home he is on his knees for Yuuri, of how when Yuuri whines when he licks the vein on the underside of his shaft he repeats the gesture more slowly, of how unashamed and unabashed he is as he dribbles his spit everywhere, of the way he moans an encouragement when Yuuri pulls on his hair with such vigor it must sting like shit. 

Yuuri scrabbles his free hand into the velvet duvet for purchase, fights the urge to fuck Victor’s mouth. Victor teases Yuuri a little to make it last, pulling back and slowing his pace, doing every single bit of work on his own, and Yuuri wonders how he got so lucky that he found someone so devoted.

He’ll have to reciprocate in a spectacular fashion when granted the opportunity. 

Victor does some kind of thing with his tongue like he’s learning to roll his Rs while knotting a cherry stem into a bow, but it utterly devastates Yuuri’s willpower. He can’t hold back his shout of utter bliss as his release spills into Victor’s mouth. Victor swallows like it was part of his formal education at finishing school. Maybe it was. Surely those naughty novelists wouldn’t lie about what goes on in all-male boarding academies for the glitterati. “You okay?” Yuuri asks after a few beats.

Victor wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m out of practice.” Yuuri’s face must be something else because Victor’s brows knit together. “What?”

“One man’s _out of practice_ is another man’s _best head of his life_ ,” Yuuri quips.

The flush on his cheeks and the grin he wears makes Victor look incredibly smug. 

Yuuri would normally scoff, but he’s definitely earned it. He’s also likely ready to finish too, and Yuuri can’t neglect his prince. “Let me—” he offers.

Victor gets it without further elaboration, sliding back up for sloppy kisses that Yuuri can taste his own pleasure on. “I don’t need much,” Victor says with a small amount of apology in his voice.

“My mouth?” Yuuri offers. Victor’s cock is beautiful — he’d love to properly taste it, to feel the heaviness of it against his lips and on his tongue.

“No, I mean… _I really don’t need much_ ,” Victor emphasizes. This is when Yuuri can see the pain in his eyes. He’s a bit desperate.

“Okay,” Yuuri says. He reaches into Victor’s velvet lounge pants; they’re sticky in the groin area thanks to the enthusiastic leaking Victor’s cock is doing. He didn’t put on any underwear after he showered, and Yuuri treats the precome like lubricant, giving Victor’s cock a few solid tugs that he thrusts up into. Victor puffs and whines a little into Yuuri’s hair, and Yuuri nuzzles his jaw, biting a subtle mark underneath it that kicks Victor past the edge. He grips Yuuri’s wrist as he spills over Yuuri’s hand with a satisfied, prolonged sigh. 

Yuuri kisses him to help bring him down. Victor’s weight is comforting as it surrounds him, and Yuuri thinks without fear or confusion how easy it’d be to spend his whole life like this: lying on a giant, plush bed in a wing in a palace with Victor blissed out beside him. 

Life is rarely so simple, though, and Yuuri tries to push away thoughts of uptight government officials and duty before all else to enjoy this moment during its brief lifespan. 

Having recovered, Victor changes his position so he can look in Yuuri’s eyes. “Ja nie mahu žyć biez ciabie.”

Yuuri pauses. “Is that Belarusian? It doesn’t quite sound like Russian…”

“Yes,” Victor replies. “It’s a love declaration. _I can’t live without you._ ”

He feels his eyes sting with happy tears. “Then you should let me care for you upon your reign and beyond.”

There is a heavy, long pause. “That sounds like a marriage proposal,” Victor says. 

Yuuri is pretty sure Victor would have to get some kind of royal decree allowing them to wed. This may not be possible for a while given everything else. “It’s, at the very least, a strong promise.”

Victor seems to understand. “Then I promise to do the same.”

The birds sing a bit louder, a little brighter, and Yuuri thinks — no, Yuuri now fully understands that the lack of privacy, the pomp and circumstance, the propriety, dress codes, and security detail are all worth this man’s heart and giving his own back so easily in turn. In sickness and health, spending his life committed to Victor is the only future he can envision. 

There’s nothing to complain about.

He needs to find time to update Chris and send him his favorite vintage of Pol Roger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Viens, descendons ensemble_ means "let us go down together." Hence the joke in Yuuri's inner monologue.
> 
> Calm before the storm, gang.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)


	9. Princess Ekaterina's Salon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life seems idyllic. 
> 
> Until, of course, it's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Updated playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=80eA4LcIQmW1xAD25WQ4aA).

Time moves differently in Aurifera, Yuuri decides one morning as he lies under the covers, still in bed with Victor’s arm slung across his waist. 

In the past, Yuuri has felt stifled by partners sleeping with him. He’s not really a huge cuddler by default — he starts to feel panicky and restrained after more than thirty minutes of it awake, and he’ll kick the person away without meaning to while sleeping. Victor holding him, though, it’s like all of his possible worries and sadnesses are snuffed out before their arrival. 

It’s incredibly lovely.

The sex before sleeping is great, also, though it’s not quite nightly. As much as Yuuri is an introvert, Victor seems to be even more so and there are nights where he can just manage lying while Yuuri puts a cool cloth over his eyes, singing him to sleep as softly as possible.

Victor insists on that last part, but Yuuri gets sinus migraines a few times a year and won’t belt, just sing. It’s a lot like some kind of fairytale, like a songbird loving a prince and trying to show it the best he knows how. 

There’s a lull in the festivities for today, which is pretty nice. They can hide out together, Victor can recharge a bit, and maybe there can be a reprisal of that horseback ride. 

Victor stirs behind him, moving closer. His nose rests on the inside of Yuuri’s ear, and Yuuri’s heart warms and fills. Whirlwind romances with happy endings are Hollywood inventions most of the time, but Yuuri thinks maybe he and Victor will beat the odds.

Makkachin and Vicchan are curled around each other at the foot of the (expansive, Yuuri will never cease to think) bed. They’re thick as thieves after less than two weeks, and it warms Yuuri’s heart to no end. 

He’s spotted Victor taking photos a few times when they’ve been this cute, so he knows he isn’t alone. 

Yuuri realizes Victor actually woke at some point as his arm tightens around Yuuri’s waist. “Morning,” Victor greets him in a low voice.

“Ohayo,” Yuuri replies. He doesn’t get to use Japanese nearly enough anymore, he notes for a brief moment sadly. It’s like stretching a muscle after disuse. He should call his sister.

There’s a loud bang on the door, and Victor curses in Belarusian before it opens to Duke Plisetsky flouncing in a gray and black band-striped crewneck sweater, jeans, and leopard trainers with giant black stars on them. His hair’s in a haphazard bun today, and he looks, as ever, thoroughly unimpressed. “Victor,” he begins with literally no interest in how they’re lying in bed with their dogs.

The only thing different from any other appearance of the young Duke is the giant Ragdoll cat in his arms. 

Yuuri looks at her with interest. “What a beautiful cat.”

The Duke’s entire demeanor changes. His smile turns luminous. “Potya is the most beautiful cat  _ to ever exist _ .”

Yuuri admittedly thinks Nacho and Stella Flay are incredibly beautiful, as he got to meet them at a party in the Hamptons hosted by their famous chef dad once, but Potya is quite comely with her seal-point coat and big blue eyes. “She is.”

Potya is allowed her freedom, and she immediately stalks up the bed to Yuuri. She must find him worthy because she purrs, giving his hand a bump with her face for chin scratches, and curls into a puffy ball of rumbling delight by his thigh. When Yuuri has the nerve to stop petting her, she bats at his arm with a paw until he continues. 

Yuuri is a dog person through and through, but he’s willing to die on a battlefield for Potya instantly.

“What do you want, Yuri?” Victor asks as he rubs some of the sleep from his eyes. 

“Even though the schedule’s empty today, Tetya Kat wants to have dinner,” is his answer. “You, me, and Victor, I mean. No one else.”

It takes Yuuri a minute to work out that  _ Tetya Kat  _ is Victor’s mother. To be fair, she’s only ever referred to in his presence as Princess Ekaterina or Mamen’ka, so the confusion is easily understood.

Potya purrs and flips into a donut-shape. Vicchan senses an interloper and trots up to Yuuri, where he parks on his lap and stares at Potya almost creepily. 

Potya continues on unaware.

Victor becomes more alert in light of his cousin’s statement. “Can I wear jeans? I haven’t gotten to wear jeans in nine months.”

Yuuri looks at him. “That sounds like something the Hague should prosecute over.”

“Doesn’t it just?” Victor asks with a nod. He looks at Duke Plisetsky. “Yurio gets to wear jeans, because Yurio isn’t the first in line to the throne.”

“I’m  _ Yuri! _ ” The Duke puffs his cheeks and squares up. “Jesus.”

Yuuri laughs as he pets Vicchan’s curls.

“Okay, Yurio,” Victor replies with seeming obliviousness. “We’ll come.”

“Ugh,” is all he gets as a reply. Then the cornsilk and animal print whirlwind departs, though Potya stays behind. 

Yuuri pets his dog, and now Makkachin senses other animals are getting love while she is not, so she scoots up towards him on her belly and looks at him with loving, sad eyes. Yuuri pets her too, wondering how he can have enough hands to give them all they demand. 

“You should call him Yuri, I see you struggling with what name to use,” Victor says. He gets up, stretching, as he wanders to their en suite. Makkachin snuggles closer to Yuuri, Vicchan dozes off on his lap, Potya pulls his arm to her belly, and Yuuri realizes he’s likely going to die in this spot because he has to pee extremely badly and can’t get up due to the cute pet conundrum.

Oh well. There are worse things.

Victor comes back having washed his face and brushed his hair into something more tamed than his usual bedhead, and he slides into bed on the opposite side he slept to hug Yuuri. “Ahh, my Yuuri,” he says. He nuzzles Yuuri’s ear like he did before.

Yuuri closes his eyes and just…basks. Pets, a large comfy bed, the man he loves — the day is already perfect. “Jeans, huh?”

“Mmm.” Victor holds him closer. Potya briefly complains before settling back into her spot. “I think I’d rather like to not move an inch.”

“Your mother may disapprove when dinner rolls around,” Yuuri deadpans.

“Let her send our army after me then,” Victor says. The animals somehow can all just  _ tell _ , because the dogs move to the far side of the bed and Potya jumps onto the floor to curl up in front of the fireplace. Victor changes their position so he pulls Yuuri on top of him. “I have plans that are far more urgent than dinner.”

“And those would be?” Yuuri knows the answer. The world would know the answer if they were allowed in right now.

“Well,” Victor begins, and then the rest passes in a long, hot blur, until they’re so satisfied they fall back asleep for a late afternoon nap. A series of salty-seeming text messages from Yakov rouse them, and they quickly shower before making themselves presentable. Victor is obviously pleased to wear his jeans. 

Yuuri is obviously pleased because they make Victor’s ass look _ just great _ .

Dinner is at the opposite end of the palace, which possibly has its own zip code, in the West Wing. Yuuri thinks he may need to exercise more as the trek has him slightly winded upon arrival. There’s a smaller, more intimate dining nook in the font chambers of Princess Ekaterina’s rooms. A table set for four sits under some beautiful stained glass lamps, but most noteworthy is that they only have salad and entree forks plus a knife and spoon for their place settings.

Yuuri knows which fork and knife for which course, he had to learn when he began to attend more formal functions through the Met, but it’s really quite relieving to eat a normal dinner.

Well, he thinks it’s normal until the borscht is ladled into their soup bowls. Victor happily begins to eat his portion, so Yuuri lies back and thinks of Aurifera as he slurps his first spoonful.

Princess Ekaterina wears a white sweater with Dolman sleeves along with her own pair of jeans and some over-the-knee boots. Her hair is in a loose ponytail like Audrey Hepburn would have worn, making her look younger than her newly minted age of sixty. 

When looking at her in this setting, Yuuri sees so much of her in Victor it makes his heart skip several beats. He’s so distracted between their incredible resemblance and pretending to like the soup, he misses the topic of conversation for several threads.

“— I just don’t know of an alternate solution,” Victor says to her as Yuuri tunes back in. “You know most people will be outraged by a new income tax.”

“It’s true, we haven’t needed one in so long,” she says after a beat.

Yuuri looks at Victor. “What’s this?”

“Aurifera’s got very little in taxation,” Victor answers. “If you live here for five months and 27 days out of the year, you can claim residency and pay no income tax. Property tax is also not taken unless on a rental property, which the rate is only one percent.”

“There’s no capital gains tax, either,” Yuri says. “We run on a lot of monopolies for this region of Eastern Europe, and since we’re a tax haven, a lot of companies have their headquarters here, which means a lot of high paying jobs for the people.”

Yuuri gives Yuri an interested look. Yuri ignores him, giving his borscht bowl to a valet in exchange for a salad plate filled with a generous portion of what Yuuri now recognizes as Herring Under a Fur Coat. 

“We can’t levy an income tax after never having one,” Princess Ekaterina reminds her son. 

“Is there trouble with the economy?” Yuuri asks. He read about Aurifera, of course, but he didn’t see anything about this in his research. Though, he still can’t read Cyrillic so it’s possible he just couldn’t see it.

“Not trouble per se,” Victor answers with a smile. “But times change and to keep our people happy as well as updating and advancing social programs, we may have to adapt a little.”

“Aurifera’s unemployment rate is below two percent,” the Princess explains. “We don’t have much of a need for social safety nets. The vast majority of our citizenry are quite comfortable, but programs such as our national healthcare system are growing more expensive as we move forward.” She takes a bite of her salad. “We may need something to give a little, that’s really all.”

“The one point eight percent of our people who need help shouldn’t be so thoughtlessly used as proof of our goodness,” Victor mumbles. Yuuri squeezes his hand under the table.

“Well there’s the sales tax,” Yuri offers. “We all know that hasn’t kept up with the times. People might complain a little, but when we remind them of all the rest of the benefits of living here, they’ll probably drop it. Especially if it means they get to keep their healthcare intact.”

Princess Ekaterina looks at him. “That’s quite a good suggestion, Yuri. I’ll broach the topic with Masiuk at our next meeting.”

Victor looks a little frustrated at not being the one to offer the solution, but it fades into cheer. “Mamen’ka, while we’re on the subject — Yuuri and I are fully committed to one another. Can I join you for that meeting to discuss the proceedings for the announcement and eventual engagement?”

Yuuri stares at Victor for a minute. It’s true, they are, but it sounds so much more  _ real  _ like this. When the shock wears off, he sees Victor’s mother giving them a warm smile with an edge of relief in the set of her lips. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Victor only has eyes for Yuuri, though, and Yuuri definitely needs to call Mari before this goes public. 

Cotletas on a bed of a sweet pepper sauce and mashed potatoes are the main course, and they’re incredibly moist and flavorful. It’s the closest thing this country has to katsudon, and Yuuri really enjoys the feeling of comfort they offer with every bite.

He’ll be eating cotletas for the rest of his life, probably. It’s good that it makes him feel so content.

The table is cleared and they adjourn to a sitting area with brandy and petis fours filled with apricot jam. Yuri checks the notifications on his cellphone. “Damn, that vandal changed my Wiki photo again.”

Victor, who was just using his phone, sets it down. “How odd.”

“Whenever I find out who it is, they’ll regret everything,” Yuri growls. “They keep using a VPN so tracking the IP address is pointless.”

“That’s pretty clever,” Victor says with some mild surprise.

“Yuuri,” Princess Ekaterina interjects from her seat across from him on an overstuffed chair. 

Yuuri looks at her with a half-smile. He still has to fight the urge to bow in her presence. “Yes, your highness?”

She gives him the disapproving frown she does every time he uses her title. “Really?”

After giving her a hapless shrug, Yuuri tries again. It’s too weird to refer to a reigning monarch as just Ekaterina for his liking. “I mean, yes?”

“Is everything alright?” she asks. The tone of her voice is incredibly soft. She doesn’t mean the dinner, the conversation, or the drink. There’s sympathy in her gaze Yuuri would typically run from or shove off, but instead he welcomes it this time.

Yuuri looks at Victor, who is bickering good-naturedly with his young cousin as they trade Pokemon in PokeGo. “Honestly…yes. As long as I’m with Victor, everything is wonderful.”

She smiles as she looks at Victor as well. “I think he believes I never saw his loneliness even as a child. I’m so happy he’s found you.”

“I’m happy too,” Yuuri admits, thinking of stolen hours in a field, of a night spent talking on a hotel terrace, of slow dancing in Madison Square Garden. Every time he looks into Victor’s eyes he hears different love songs, and in this moment when Victor meets his gaze and smiles at him, the duet from Disney’s animated Cinderella fills Yuuri’s head.

Doubly appropriate since it’s her dance with the Prince while in her magic gown and glass shoes.

_ So this is what makes life divine;  
_ _ I'm all aglow and now I know, the key to our heaven is mine… _

Yuuri doesn’t care for how he looks in white, and glass dancing slippers sound like an ER trip waiting to happen, but there’s always exceptions to be made. Victor is definitely worth an exception, especially if he gets to marry Yuuri in that uniform he previously mentioned.

Having since been shown photos of the burgundy and blue dress outfit, Yuuri would _ really like _ to have his hopeful groom wear it when they exchange vows. Especially since Victor chose cavalry for the branch he entered, and there are boots, shiny patent leather knee-high ones.

Yuuri tries to push those thoughts away since he’s literally having a conversation with Victor’s  _ mother _ . “Yes, I’m happy.”

“Good.” Ekaterina squeezes his hand. “This makes my job easy when meeting with the National Council about the formal courtship. I won’t pretend it’ll be easy — Masiuk is unfailingly traditional, even conservative, and there will be others who are concerned about social climbing.”

“I didn’t know he was royalty until after our first date,” Yuuri explains. “And I already wanted to know him better without the knowledge. It’s not relevant to my choice.”

Ekaterina squeezes his hand a second time. “I know. I’ll do my best. Victor is also extremely convincing when he so wishes.”

Yuuri’s seen footage of his speeches, advocating for human rights and people who suffer needlessly. He truly is. “Okay.”

“The meeting is tomorrow,” Ekaterina says. “We’ll have tea after. I have a feeling that should they agree, there may be some caveats.”

Of course. “Yeah, that sounds fine.”

Victor clears his throat next to a grumbling, pouting Yurio. “Mamen’ka. May I borrow Yuuri?”

“Of course,” Ekaterina says. “I enjoyed dinner tonight. See you at ten, Vitya.”

Victor takes Yuuri by the arm, escorting him through the wing into the more public areas of the palace that are used for tours. The banquet hall that will host the grand ball for Ekaterina’s birthday in a few days is in the process of being decorated and as such, in a rare occurrence is off-limits. There are immense floral arrangements in gold, blue, and white, alongside white tablecloths, golden plates…and Yuuri once again contemplates how this has become his life. 

Victor looks up briefly at the gilded chandelier they stand below. He doesn’t speak for a long time, but Yuuri doesn’t either. Yuuri takes a different approach, of rising onto the balls of his feet to surmount the 3 inch difference, with one hand running through the cropped hairs at the back of Victor’s neck as he kisses Victor for at least five minutes. 

Or well, he would have if Victor hadn’t decided dragging him down to the floor for something decidedly more  _ heated _ was a better choice. 

The door wasn’t locked, so Victor definitely doesn’t fuck him on the floor, but there is definitely a loss of some clothing, and then there are definitely some orgasms, and they definitely try to put themselves unconvincingly back to rights. 

Victor can’t stop smiling, Yuuri can’t stop laughing as he tries to hide the mark he left on Victor’s neck, and they adjourn to bed. Sleep is slow coming, thanks to hands that refuse to quit wandering. 

The alarm isn’t due to wake them until nine, but around six there’s a not-insignificant amount of yelling as the door bangs open.

Today it’s not Yuri, though — it’s Yakov. Yuuri realizes he hasn’t seen him much since arriving at the palace; he probably had bigger security concerns with the anniversary festivities. “There’s a problem,” he says as he throws a magazine onto the bed. The text is all in Belarusian, but the photos…anyone can understand those.

Some are of Victor and Yuuri in the field from that one day, disheveled and in position to look as damning as possible. Some others are from the ballroom last night, which means that someone’s definitely about to get fired.

“I found the photographer, he used a telephoto lens for the field,” Yakov says in a gravelly voice that’s honestly out of character with its severity. Which speaks volumes about the situation they’re in. “He disguised himself as staff and got the ballroom pics also. They’re online already before you ask — Daily Mail, Lainey Gossip, TMZ, Just Jared, Pravda, ONTD…it’s already out everywhere. Prince Victor and his dalliances with a social-climbing singer.”

Yuuri thumbs through the magazine with a numb detachment, like it’s someone else in the article. He can’t read any of it. It doesn’t matter that he can’t. The prurient nature of the photo choices makes the story clear. The angle is lust, not a whirlwind fairy tale love, and not only is this flat out garbage for the royal family of Aurifera, it’s  _ absolute shit _ for the Met.

His cell phone blows up before he has any chance to send a text. Firstly, the publicist and PR people from the Met have reached out, saying they’re running damage control so that’s good. They have the rose delivery from the performance Victor came to, alongside Victor’s presence in his box, to back up the  _ legitimate romance we chose to be quiet regarding to respect their privacy _ release they’ll be running when more of the US is awake.

Phichit, of course, has also had MSG release limited info about their date for the Hugh Jackman concert. Hugh himself has apparently tweeted wishing them well, which Yuuri kind of wants to tell him to read the room a little, but also who will argue with Wolverine? It’s fine.

Yuuri makes a note to send Phichit a large order of delivery from his favorite Thai place next time he works late as a token of his gratitude.

Throughout this, Victor has silently read the article as well as tweets marked with a Cyrillic hashtag. His face is pale. Victor doesn’t look up as he asks, “Tell me that Masiuk —”

“He’s moved the meeting up to eight am instead of eleven,” Yakov states with grim determination. “It’s not good, Vitya. He’s aware of what you were going to request regarding Yuuri. It’s…definitely not good.”

Yuuri looks at Victor. Victor does not look up from his phone or the magazine, his eyes going back and forth. Yuuri finally takes the chance to put his arm around his waist. Victor does relax his posture a little, but there is no relief that fills either of them.

The time is now going on seven.

Victor gets out of bed, entering their bathroom. In twenty minutes, he comes out fully clothed, groomed, and polished in a three-piece navy suit, his sash, and his forelock gelled off his face. It’s a modern suit of armor he’s donned for the occasion. 

“Victor,” Yuuri begins to protest or comfort, he’s not quite sure.

“Yuuri.” Victor gives him a wan smile. “Nothing has changed. I’m going to the meeting. I’m asking permission to marry you. Frankly, this may work in our favor, since it will have to stop any nonsense about this being a fling for you to gain titles or money through me.”

Yakov’s expression is unconvinced. Frankly, deep in his heart, Yuuri isn’t either, but he smiles and he lets Victor kiss his cheek as they depart. “Ganbatte,” Yuuri says to the room that is now empty save for himself and their dogs.

In those few minutes, a good friend with a blue checkmark, the friend who introduced them, has tweeted about setting them up. 

Yuuri doesn’t know whether to thank Chris or cry on his shoulder. He ends up doing both in a text message that takes up his entire screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Herring Under a Fur Coat - [recipe here](https://www.foodandwine.com/recipes/herring-under-fur-coat).  
> Cotletas - [recipe here](http://www.recipestudio.com/2010/06/classic-russian-cotleta-cotelette.html).
> 
> Not long after she married Prince William, Duchess Kate was photographed on holiday with a telephoto lens while sunbathing topless. I think the distance the photog was from their villa was a mile or something. That is the real life event that spawned the flower-field paparazzo. As for the ballroom photos, with florists and caterers coming and going, it's easy for someone shady to avoid being noticed. 
> 
> Also again, I based Aurifera pretty much wholesale on Monaco. Genovia's not real ( _it should be_ ), so like. One does what one must.
> 
> The song Yuuri references is the iconic ["So This is Love."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnA76Jp6pBQ)


	10. Charles de Gaulle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing breaks like a heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Playlist on [Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=vitqKCakQ1yKXiGVnw8MBA)

Victor is gone for the entire morning, going into lunchtime. Yuuri doesn’t eat the breakfast brought to their breakfast nook, nor does he sample the snacks left next to the chaise by a large picture window. The peacocks are quiet still today, which Yuuri is happy about as one of their milk-curdling warbles would probably cause his soul to depart his body thanks to his already shattered nerves.

Yuri comes with Potya around eleven, and they talk of nothing of consequence. Potya sleeps in a ball in between them while Vicchan stares her down from atop Yuuri’s lap. Makkachin holds court on the floor by their feet, and Yuri talks about his public policy homework. 

It sounds quite dull, all considered. Yuuri continues to watch the clock. There is no second hand on an iPhone, but the sentiment is the same as he counts down the minutes and hours. It’s like he’s aged to fifty in a single morning. The longer it takes, the greater the fear that grows within him. 

The less hope his heart holds, too.

A knock raps on the door, and Yuuri is so used to people just barging in at this point he almost doesn’t recognize it for what it is. He shoots up, jostling Vicchan (which he will pay for in treats later) and wipes his palms on his jeans.

Yakov is the first to enter, followed by Masiuk, Princess Ekaterina, and Victor bringing up the rear. Masiuk should ostensibly be two paces behind them, but it figures that such a boorish shitstain would walk with the actual reining monarch as well as  _ in front of the heir presumptive _ as some kind of obvious point.

Masiuk’s suit is crisp Italian tailoring in black silk wool. His wears a rep tie with stripes of Auriferan navy and burgundy. There’s a ghoulish mien of pleasure in his otherwise humorless smile. 

The Princess’s expression is solemn. She shoots Masiuk a look that is on a highwire between deeply frustrated and deeply  _ furious _ . She also has a subtle air of helplessness about her, as if she wants to break the “primarily ceremonial” part of her role for today’s occasion.

Victor won’t make eye contact.

This, more than anything, tells Yuuri how things went.

In the interest of not making anything more difficult, Yuuri holds his tongue.

“You all look like you’re at a state funeral,” Yuri states. Potya growls a little at Masiuk before escaping under the bed. Vicchan’s back stiffens a little, and Makkachin stands by her human’s side with visible canine concern. 

“His Highness requested we work together on a plan to announce your courtship and eventual engagement,” Masiuk begins. He at least has the decency to quit smiling now. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

Yuuri looks at Victor with disbelief. Victor must sense it, because he says with a hoarse voice, “For the time being.”

“For the time being, the scandal is too fresh,” Masiuk elaborates. “At some point when we’ve agreed the dramatics have died down, then perhaps.”

His eyes narrowing, Yuuri’s emotions shift from dismay to that fine line between anger and irritation. “Define ‘at some point.’ Do you mean six months? A year?”

“Yuuri,” Victor interjects.

“I have a feeling you mean  _ in perpetuity _ , though, don’t you Minister?” Yuuri bites out. He isn’t stupid. He may not have been sent to elite boarding schools, he may be a vocalist and not a professor, but he has never been stupid like Masiuk seems to believe. 

Yuri looks between Yuuri and Masiuk. “Yeah, Minister, that kind of open-ended agreement means things can just continually drag out. I’d also bet the scandal never really goes away — look at how Duchess Camilla  _ still _ gets treated and it’s been like…longer than I’ve existed.”

“I pointed that out,” Princess Ekaterina states with tangible acid in her words. “But the Council and Masiuk in particular think this is best.”

“Couldn’t get enough support for a veto?” Yuri asks her.

“We’ll discuss it later,” she replies, which is a clear  _ yes _ . 

“So how long, then?” Yuuri continues. “Are we supposed to just pretend to not care about each other until you decide to spin some fiction about rekindling a dead fling at an arbitrary point in the future?”

“Well of course, you can continue to see each other secretly,” Masiuk says. It’s like he’s bestowing some generous boon on them. “It means you wouldn’t be able to stay here for the festivities, alas, and the relationship, as it is, would have to shift to emails only.”

“What?” Yuuri manages. “That’s ridiculous. I can’t even  _ text _ him?”

“No, not with how easily cellphones can be hacked,” Masiuk explains. “We’d have to give you both dummy email addresses with two-factor enabled and through a VPN service as it is. Texting is far too easy to hack, alongside cloud services and photo applications. Which means no photographs being traded as well.”

The depths of Yuuri’s disgust is a full five fathoms and sinking.

“Can you give us a minute?” Victor asks. 

Masiuk scoffs. “Highness, I think we should get Mr. Katsuki to—”

“I wasn’t asking!” Victor’s words are guttural and commanding. It is the first true instance of any sort of spoiled prince Yuuri has seen. It must be rare, as his mother and cousin look as shocked as Yuuri feels. 

The first decent thing Masiuk has done in Yuuri’s presence is drop this thread. “Yes, your Highness.” He exits with that brisk stick-shoved-up-his-ass stride, and Ekaterina follows with a squeeze of Yuuri’s forearm and a soft touch to Victor’s face as she goes. Yuri also does not protest, giving Yuuri a sheepish smile.

He also tells Victor to “not fuck it up,” so there’s that.

The door closes, and Victor has the pallor and pained expression of one of his migraines. Yuuri dutifully grabs a cold wash cloth before helping him lie on the couch with it covering his eyes. “You okay?”

“No,” Victor admits. “They won’t bend. The scandal has overtaken the birthday celebrations, all of the good I’ve ever done, all of the growing up I’ve done…it’s the email-only relationship until some sort of appalling organized meet cute to “find the old spark” or…not being with you.”

“Then both options amount to the same, because you know that as long as Masiuk’s in office he’ll always say it’s not  _ time yet _ ,” Yuuri says. His voice isn’t unkind, but it is extremely no-nonsense.

“We don’t know that,” Victor says. “I was so thoughtless, so careless…it’s completely messed up things for Mamen’ka, for what happens when I take the throne—”

Something boils over inside of Yuuri. “You don’t even  _ want _ the throne!” 

Victor freezes, removing the compress from his face. “That’s irrelevant because regardless, I will one day sit upon it, and my reign can’t be darkened by anything like this.”

“Anything like _ us _ ,” Yuuri grinds out.

“That is not what I mean and you know it,” Victor retorts. “You know damn well that I went in there full guns blazing to marry you, so that you would stay by my side as my consort, as my co-ruler and—”

“Not full guns blazing if you think putting me on indefinite hold with barely any communication counts as a relationship or a win,” Yuuri says. His voice is getting pitchy, his eyes begin burning.

“I have a duty to the realm, Yuuri, I have…” Victor stammers. Makkachin yelps and puts her paws on his lap as if offering comfort. “Yuuri, I’m  _ trying _ .”

Yuuri stares at him. “No, you’re not doing a whole lot, and granted it’s because there’s a lot of moving parts out of your hands, but you’re definitely prioritizing those parts instead of me.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Victor pleads. “This way I can at least…we can still at least  _ talk _ . I can’t be with you until this dies down, not publicly, and I don’t want to keep you locked away, sacrificing everything to be my dirty secret until I’m allowed to date you openly again.”

“Listen to yourself, you’re a grown man asking permission to  _ date _ ,” Yuuri says. He cracks his knuckles just by balling his hands into fists. “You can’t even see the issue with that, let alone understand what I’m telling you about how Masiuk won’t let it go until he ends up in hell where he belongs.”

Victor doesn’t argue. 

The next thing Yuuri says shatters his own heart into a thousand splinters of glass. “You won’t have to worry about the scandal, Victor. I’m pushing the emergency stop like I said in New York. I’m out.”

Victor’s expression falls through the floor. Tears well up in his eyes, and one of them drips onto his polished black patent shoe. “You’re so selfish, Yuuri. I was doing this for us.”

“No, you weren’t,” Yuuri manages. “You were doing it for the kingdom, your mother, Masiuk somehow…but you never did this for  _ yourself _ , let alone us.” 

Yuuri grabs his phone, trying to figure out what airport to select for a one-way ticket away from Aurifera. Does he want Fukuoka, with the trappings of his mother’s cooking, hot spring baths, the sea, the black-winged gulls, his childhood friends, mentor, and older sister? Does he want JFK or La Guardia, so he can cry on Phichit’s weird IKEA couch while his best friend brings him obscene piles of Shake Shack and Milk Bar treats? Does he want to go somewhere uncharted to clear his head until the Met begins casting the new season?

Victor takes his hand, covering Expedia’s search page with his fingers. “I gave you my word that we would end this if you wished, so the least I can do is give you use of the jet to fly home.”

_ You’re my home now _ , Yuuri considers screaming. This is when he realizes that he’s ugly crying so hard his glasses have fogged up and there are tear stains all over his shirt. He can’t even read the website to look for a fare between his blurred vision and how badly his hand shakes. 

Victor is worse, his whole body is trembling. His cheeks are soaking wet. His voice is raw and Yuuri almost reconsiders. He can’t, but he wants to. If Masiuk refused Victor autonomy in his own hairstyle, he’ll never let him win this, and Victor is trying to cling to hope but Yuuri is a pragmatist. It’s one of his worst flaws.

As seen here at this moment.

If Yuuri thought there was any chance of email only dating lasting maybe a couple of months, he’d go for it. That’s the messed up part. But he knows in his soul Victor will begin taking longer to reply, and Masiuk will string this farce along forever if he has to. Victor will get married off to some baroness for royal heirs, and maybe he’ll remember Yuuri once in a while if he hears Elton John or Hugh Jackman. 

Masiuk, either way, is getting what he wants. The good little Crown Prince. His stifled, miserable picture of his ideal royal.

And somehow for all he’s suffered at this ass’s hands, Victor can’t see this. 

In spite of how stupid he’s being, Yuuri still loves him so deeply leaving is making him physically ill. “Okay.”

Victor nods and sends two text messages. He drops his phone to the floor when he tries to put it into his pocket. He looks like he’s going to throw up, making them a cracked but matching set. “Yakov will take you to the airport in forty minutes.”

Yuuri packs quickly and silently, or as close as he can with the crying. It’s pretty easy to do, since everything was in a proper and set place. Vicchan follows at his heels, shooting looks at Victor and Makkachin with confusion. Makkachin follows Yuuri with her eyes, staying by Victor’s legs. She seems to understand, and now Yuuri tries not to cry even harder.

Potya emerges after a bit, climbing into Yuuri’s suitcase in a form of nonviolent protest. Yuuri lets her think she can stay there until he has to zip it closed, and then he gently puts her on a chair. 

A sedate knock at thirty-nine minutes, forty-one seconds alerts Yuuri to Yakov’s presence. Victor opens the door so that Yuuri can manage Vicchan in his carrier plus his bag. Yakov’s face is grimly determined, and Victor desperately grabs Yuuri’s shoulder. 

The kiss he bestows is like a rain shower on a cold day, gray and sad beyond language’s capabilities to describe. He feels Victor begin to weep again, and Yuuri forces himself to pull away. It’s a last goodbye, a finality, the death of something beautiful gone far too soon, and if Yuuri doesn’t keep moving, he won’t go.

Yakov escorts him to the armored limo, and they sit in the back together for the trip to the airport. They don’t really talk, with Yuuri staring out his window so hard it may melt the armored glass. He doesn’t really  _ see _ anything, which is why it’s a bit of a surprise when they slow to a stop and then suddenly Yakov is handing him a white paper bag with a bottle full of white liquid and that has Turkish on its label.

Yuuri opens the bag, and it’s full of Victor’s favorites from Döner Kebab from their arrival. Yuuri starts to cry again, but he eats one of the sandwiches and a fair amount of the fries before they pull up to the plane. 

“Teterboro, right?” Yakov asks. “Vitya didn’t give a destination, and I’m assuming—”

“Charles de Gaulle,” Yuuri interjects. New York will bring him down too hard, and he’s not ready to explain or grieve in front of his family. It’s too raw. He can sleep on Chris’s couch, eat macarons until he’s two stone heavier, drink in brasseries and bars, and maybe spend his days in the Orsay silently weeping at everything in the Impressionist wing.

Yakov nods without asking questions. “As you wish.”

Yuuri boards, climbing to the bed on the second floor. Vicchan understands this plane now, so he pokes around the couches and chairs. As he sits on the bed, eating the döner sandwiches and falafels, Yuuri thinks,  _ Well. It’s over now. _

Fairy tales don’t exist, and for Yuuri there has never been a crueler reminder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I am. I promise.
> 
> Also, go easy on Victor here especially, but Yuuri too. They're both in shock. You can ask me on Twitter how to see the next part early, though.
> 
> [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)


	11. Sacre Coeur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri mourns on Chris's sofa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Playlist on [Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=XlpSJ8J1SaqM2tntGiMSQA)

It’s been three days since the magic spell broke and the jet lag wore off. Now Yuuri lies on his back on Chris’s sofa with Vicchan on his chest and Chris’s white Persian cat, Manon Lescaut, curled up beside him. They were always good friends when Chris still lived in New York, and they were so pleased to be reunited upon Yuuri’s arrival. 

He’ll have to try to get up eventually and that will be impossible, but that’s a bridge to cross when he comes to it.

Chris forbade Yuuri from playing opera after Hour Twelve because his selections were too depressing. His wish was granted in a sadistic fashion as now it’s just the saddest possible pop songs on repeat thanks to Spotify France.

Yuuri reaches over the side of the couch, blindly grabbing a macaron from a Laudrée box. He vaguely notes that it’s the Marie Antoinette variety, and he eats it in two bites. An orange blossom flavored one is next, followed by blackcurrant violet. 

It is a very high-end grieving process, or at least a very sugary one. 

“I’m beginning to think I should cover all of the mirrors in here and turn off the electronics at sunset,” Chris quips from his desk. It’s set up in front of a beautiful picture window that overlooks Sacré Coeur. They’re quite close to Montmartre and as such, Yuuri can almost hear Rufus Wainwright singing in the background of their talks. 

Yuuri swallows before singing a cappella. “ _ La lune trop pâle caresse l'opale de tes yeux blasés—- Princesse de la rue soit la bienvenue dans mon coeur brisé… _ ”

Chris sighs, closing his laptop. “Schatzi.”

Yuuri stops singing. He risks the ire of the pets to roll onto his stomach. They huff and grumble before resuming their positions on his lower back. “Yes?” He braces for a scolding or a suggestion of going out, getting drunk, getting laid. These are Christophe Giacometti’s typical traps to kick the blues. 

“Do you want to talk?” Chris offers instead. 

The Paris Opera is dark as well as the Met right now. Chris has on his normal wire-rimmed spectacles for hand-embroidering the costumes, and Yuuri is mildly amused as ever that his at home wardrobe is functionally  _ Ojīchan-chic. _

“I do not,” Yuuri admits. He shoves his face into the arm of Chris’s couch. It’s made from a soft, performance velvet in vermillion. The cat looks great when she sleeps on it and her hair is easy to get rid of. Win-win. “But. I probably need to.”

Yuuri hears Chris get up, run the ice maker, and then he sets something that clinks on the coffee table before lifting Yuuri’s ankles to rest his feet in his lap. Yuuri twists and sits up, keeping his feet in Chris’s lap. The dog and cat move to perch in balls on the back of the sofa. 

What Chris got that required ice is whiskey, apparently. Three fingers of Brenne Cuvée Spéciale Single Malt for each of them, if the half-full bottle next to them is correct. Yuuri likes single malt, particularly when it’s not super-peaty. 

After taking a sip, Yuuri decides this one fits his needs pretty well. He stares at his dram for a while. “He didn’t fight for me, but I’m mostly upset he just won’t fight for himself. He’s rolled over and let Masiuk bully him into someone he shouldn’t be.”

“He’d also had, what, less than an hour to sort out how that meeting went?” Chris asks.

Victor, of course, texted Chris when he found out Yuuri’s destination as a polite head’s up. Since Chris is his good friend, but more so because Chris is a nosy cow, Victor gave him a summary of their unfortunate happenstance. Chris greeted Yuuri at the airport with lavender-cassis tea in a travel mug, a long bear hug, and a handkerchief in Tiffany blue to dry his tears like a cliché in a Parisian film student’s thesis project. 

“Well,” Yuuri begins. He sips on his whiskey. “I suppose.”

Chris nods. He takes one of the macarons, candied strawberry marshmallow, and puts it in his mouth. “So you didn’t actually give him a chance to fight, is what you mean.”

Yuuri freezes. Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Chris’s somber expression with his furrowed brows and flattened mouth. 

“Maybe if he’d had a day or two, the third option could have been sorted out,” Chris continues. 

“Take his side, I guess,” Yuuri grumbles.

“This is  _ both _ of your sides,” Chris retorts. “You have an impulsivity problem. Victor has a dragging his heels on things problem. Yours comes from your nerves, his from living a life where a lot of his decisions are made for him. Honestly, I’m mildly surprised this didn’t cause issues sooner.”

Yuuri shrugs. “I guess I just assumed he’d tell that ass off, remind him who’s the Crown Prince and…” Yuuri sighs. “I don’t know what I really expected, but I got passivity instead. It really hurt, Chris. It feels like I’m not worth anything.”

“Yeah, I would likely feel the same,” Chris admits. He opens the box of millefeuilles next, passing one to Yuuri. They eat them in silence. “We should probably eat real food soon.”

“Mm,” Yuuri says. The cotletas were so good. France doesn’t have many entrees that are comparable, though — he’ll have to compromise with confit du canard or steak frites. 

There are worse things.

“Yuuri, you know,” Chris tries after a minute. “He does love you. It’s just an impossible-seeming position. If he comes up with another way…would you be open to it?”

This is obviously not a rhetorical question, since short of saying  _ asking for my friend who you just dumped _ , Chris could not possibly be less subtle. 

But.

“Yes,” Yuuri admits glumly. “It hurts, I hate everything, but if Victor can make it work where I’m not settling for crumbs…yes. I’ll be on the next plane instantly.”

Chris smiles, self-deprecating and a bit brittle. “There is that at least.” 

“There is that,” Yuuri says, lost in a memory so strong he can almost smell blue cornflowers. It’s only then he realizes it’s growing dark outside, as opposed to the bright afternoon sun from that day in the field. 

“Should I cook or order in?” Chris asks. He turns on his flatscreen television. 

“Order in,” Yuuri says. “We can cook tomorrow. I’m growing bored of being depressed.”

“That’s my schatzi,” Chris says with a grin. Yuuri leans against him, and Chris gives his hair an affectionate ruffle. 

The news is on, since it’s early evening, and while the reporters speak far too quickly for him to follow, he can manage to understand the words  _ Aurifera _ and  _ Crown Prince _ . He gives Chris a quizzical look.

“Press conference,” Chris translates. “It…oh. It’s about you it sounds like. Some kind of statement and Q&A session to put rumors to rest.”

Yuuri grimaces and nods.

“I can…find literally anything else to watch,” Chris says in a deeply kind voice.

This isn’t the time for kindness, though. “No, it sucks, but…” Yuuri falters. “I just. I guess I need to know how final this is? Or something.”

Chris nods. Aurifera is an hour ahead of Paris, so while unusual for a press conference, an evening one like this isn’t completely unheard of. Especially not for an international press scandal that the House of Nikiforov has to weather.

There’s flash bulbs going off at a rapid speed, and Yuuri sees the cameras and credentials for the BBC, Al-Jazeera, CNN…all of the major international news players. The room itself is one he didn’t see at the palace; it’s very austere with dark paneled walls and a white podium under the Auriferan state crest on the wall. Victor is the only one who enters, as he stands at the podium in navy, burgundy, gold, and teal as is the usual custom. He’s beautiful but there’s no joy in his face, not even the empty veneer of it. 

He greets the press in Russian and Belarusian, then English. “Good evening, representatives of the press. As you are aware, a recent security breach resulted in the release of some sensitive photographs involving myself.”

Victor is reading off a teleprompter, if Yuuri has to guess. If not for that suspicion, Yuuri could pretend Victor was seeking his eyes across the continent for guidance or help. “They really are the bluest things I’ve ever seen,” Yuuri can’t help but utter out loud.

“I asked the first time we met if he wears contacts, actually,” Chris admits. “It’s the real deal.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri says as he leans forward. He covers his mouth with his hands. 

Victor pauses, his eyes drifting off into outer space. He looks unfocused, exhausted, and then suddenly, it’s like some kind of switch gets thrown. 

“I’m supposed to read this speech to you prepared by Minister Masiuk,” Victor suddenly says. His confidence begins to grow within him, becoming visible in his facial expression. “It uses a lot of words about lapses in judgment, flings, deception, and…not a word of it is legitimate.”

The press whisper among themselves like excited bees. 

“What?” Chris asks the telly.

Victor clears his throat, loosening his necktie and thinking for another few minutes. “My whole life, I’ve been told to apologize for who I am. To stuff myself into a mold I have never fit so that others can be satisfied upon whatever day it is that I ascend. My hairstyle was altered by a legal mandate at age seventeen, any attempt at befriending people or dating has been beset by deception or discouragement…my life has been as empty as it has been extraordinary.

“I am aware of my position of privilege,” Victor continues after another pause. “I’ve never wanted for anything. I live a life with purpose and with abundance.” His smile becomes self-deprecating. “Or so I believed, until a friend arranged a meeting over drinks in New York when last I visited.”

Yuuri has a lump in his throat the size of the moon.

“I’ve missed out on a lot,” Victor continues. “But the biggest thing I missed out on was just…happiness.”

There are louder whispers this time, though Victor takes a long, long time to talk more. Yuuri can recognize what’s happening across thousands of miles and through a tv camera. There’s some kind of reckoning in Victor’s expression, some kind of thought or idea that he’s struck upon. The figurative lightbulb, one of those Phillips HUE ones that you can dim or brighten using a mobile app on your phone.

“For all of his numerous, and in some cases, grotesque flaws, the Duke of Windsor did say one thing that was quite wise,” Victor begins after another moment. “In his own words as he abdicated his throne and stepped down as King, he told the world:  _ but you must believe me when I tell you that I have found it impossible to carry the heavy burden of responsibility and to discharge my duties as King as I would wish to do without the help and support of the woman I love. _ ”

“What is he doing?” Chris asks.

The bottom drops out of Yuuri’s stomach. He’s struggling to breathe, because he’s gone insane and this is some kind of delusion of grandeur, because Victor could not possibly —

“This role I have thrust on me by an accident of birth…I’m afraid I’m ill-suited for it,” Victor continues with a genuine smile for the first time since this began. “What good is a title if to me, it is an unduly heavy burden? What is the purpose of ruling a kingdom while lonely and unfulfilled? Why would anyone wish to live under the reign of a man who sees the world in grayscale, as he laments that brief period he was granted life and love?”

“Yuuri,” Chris interjects. “Yuuri, is he —”

A text message pings Yuuri’s phone. 

_ Oh no baby, what is him doing? _ Is Phichit’s mangled meme-speech message on Yuuri’s screen. 

Yuuri types back  _ I genuinely do not know? _

“Katsuki Yuuri is many things: the finest vocalist of this generation, a dog lover, a man not to be underestimated…but he is _not_ a social climber, a con artist, or a lustful, few-week mistake. The most important thing is that he is the love of my life. Just as Edward before me, let it be known that the decision I am making is mine and mine alone.”

Yuuri stares at the screen, completely frozen. He tries and fails to answer Chris's question from a moment ago, and it doesn't work.

Victor smiles again. “Effective immediately, I hereby relinquish all claims and rights to the throne of Aurifera. I am removing myself from the direct line of succession, and the young Duke Plisetsky, my cousin, will now be granted sole claim to rule upon my mother’s death or resignation. Long though she may reign,” Victor says warmly. He takes off the sash and regalia, laying them on the podium. His necktie follows suit, and he removes his blazer, slinging it over one shoulder. 

He finally looks like  _ Yuuri’s Victor. _

“It’s been an honor serving Aurifera as its Crown Prince,” Victor continues. “But there is somewhere else I belong.”

And then Victor turns, running out of the room, the reporters utterly  _ explode _ in a commotion that Yuuri’s never seen, he can vaguely hear Masiuk yelling as he takes the podium, and then his phone buzzes with several text messages.

Phichit, of course, because he’s the best-worst friend.

One is the same country code as Victor’s phone.  _ You still in Paris? _

_ Sorry, who is this?  _ Yuuri responds. 

_ It’s Yakov. Are you still in Paris with Giacometti? _

Huh. Why does Yuuri feel like he should have guessed that Yakov would reach out?  _ Yes, I wasn’t planning on leaving for a week or two. _

There’s a small delay in the next reply.  _ Don’t leave. Just hold your position for the next five hours or so. After that, do what you want. _

Mildly terrifying, Yuuri decides, but then his phone rings. His phone rings, and Yuuri sees the caller ID and goes numb, almost can’t answer it, but then he does just in time to prevent voicemail’s intervention. “Yuuri?” Victor asks.

“Victor?” 

“Yuuri I…I’m on my way to the plane,” Victor stumbles out. “I have to grab some of my things, plus Makkachin but…but I’m coming to you, Yuuri. I’m coming to you, I’m coming to you, and I won’t let anything else slow me down. I’ve been too slow as it is.”

It takes a minute for Yuuri to realize he’s crying, just like a few days ago. “I miss you,” is his opening. “I can’t wait to see you. I…are you….never mind. I’m  _ happy _ , Victor, I’m just...I’m so happy.”

“So am I,” Victor says with an airy tone. “God, so am I. I’ll be there in about two and a half hours.”

Victor hangs up, and Yuuri falls to his knees, grabbing Chris’s throw rug in his hands while he openly sobs. The relief and the catharsis crash out of him in waves, and Chris kneels next to him, giving him that same Tiffany blue handkerchief from before. He rubs circles over his back until Yuuri calms down enough to lean on his shoulder.

Chris smiles. “Well. I think we found your third option.”

Yuuri laughs, wet and overjoyed, and he promises to take Chris to Epicure before they leave France as a show of gratitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was worth the wait. 
> 
> Home stretch of the story here, everyone!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://sinkingorswimming.tumblr.com) | [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sink_or_swim)


	12. Sacre Coeur 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited and it feels so good. 
> 
> As well as overwhelming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Playlist on [Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=DAmDzsxBT16i0zxfcNIczA)

After the fifth outfit change, Chris makes a motion like a film director who’s become aggravated by too many shitty takes. “Stop!”

Yuuri holds a shirt in each hand. One is from the black and red outfit he ended up passing over for his blind date with Victor, the other is the indigo and blue jacket he  _ did _ wear. “What?”

“You could be in a disease-ridden burlap sack and he would be overjoyed to see you,” Chris says. “I mean this kindly, mind, not as some sort of comment on his standards. Please try to settle your nerves, schatzi. He will be so happy just because he’s been reunited with you.”

It’s been about four hours since Victor’s phone call and abdication, and Yuuri has gone through his entire available wardrobe to find something suitable for when he’s back in his arms. There is literally nothing, of course, because this wasn’t on his packing list when he went to Aurifera. What  _ does _ one wear to meet their formerly royal boyfriend after dumping him due to royal obligations? Emily Post doesn’t seem to have a chapter on this.

The door buzzer to Chris’s flat sounds, and Yuuri almost flails. Chris answers it. “Allo?”

“It’s me,” comes Victor’s voice alongside a familiar dog bark. “Please hurry. I’d rather not risk being found by the paparazzi.”

Chris buzzes him in. He also grabs his coat and wallet. “Small European flat. I’ll head out to my local for a drink or two; it’ll give you the privacy you need to  _ talk _ .”

Even though he can hear the air quotes around the word  _ talk _ , Yuuri tries valiantly not to rend the hem of the sweater he’s wearing. He also tries to not cry, scream, fall over, or anything else lacking dignity. 

It flies out the window when Victor opens the door in a camel coat, most of the suit from the press conference, and Makkachin’s leash in his right hand. Then Yuuri runs into his arms like a kid. Victor holds him for dear life, dropping the leash, and then off Makkachin goes. There’s barking and feline protests in the background, but it sounds miles and miles away. Right now, all Yuuri can actually hear is Victor’s heart pounding in his chest and the blood pounding through his ear canals. 

Victor is shaking, and Yuuri is crying for at least the eightieth time this week, and he grabs Victor’s coat lapel and pulls him to the ground. He plants a kiss on Victor’s mouth that’s as desperate as it is joyful while he tries to pull the coat off unsuccessfully. Victor pulls back enough to help without breaking the kiss, and then somewhere along the way, Yuuri’s chest becomes bare and the buttons are torn off Victor’s dress shirt, the mother-of-pearl discs clattering on the parquet like marbles. 

Yuuri reverses position so Victor’s on his back below him; they kiss even more greedily the second time, and Yuuri grabs Victor’s hands to pin them on either side of his head. When he releases one of them, Victor is good and doesn’t move. Yuuri sucks Victor’s bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, then undoes the belt at his waist. The fly of his trousers is next, and then Yuuri makes similar moves with the jeans he sports. 

They fuck in the middle of Chris’s living room floor. At some point, Yuuri releases Victor’s hand and he’s rewarded with nails scratching down his upper arms, his shoulders, and even the side of his neck. Yuuri bites a constellation of hickies over Victor’s throat and collarbones. Victor comes, and Yuuri follows suit like thunder after lightning in a rolling storm. 

When the rush dies, Victor says, “I definitely assumed we’d talk first.”

Yuuri laughs, but he’s also crying  _ again _ . “Amateur mistake.”

“Quite,” Victor agrees around a laugh of his own. 

Yuuri continues to weep, and Victor may do a little of his own as they kiss with much less urgency. The silence stretches on for long enough Yuuri suddenly blurts, “I’m sorry!”

Victor pulls away with a confused expression.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” Yuuri elaborates. “I didn’t give you a chance to try and fix things. I just gave up. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I gave you a reason to,” Victor answers. “Asking you to accept some sort of hidden relationship that would barely count as one...no matter how desperate I was, that wasn’t fair to you. Or myself, but especially not you.”

Yuuri wipes the tears off his face. He hates crying — it always makes him look hideous. Victor is, of course, disgustingly gorgeous with tears staining his face. His eyes are somehow even more blue. What kind of monster created Victor?

“I love you so much,” Yuuri says. “Just...please next time, ask me for time to think maybe?”

“I love you too,” Victor answers. “There won’t be a next time. I’m not the Crown Prince anymore. I’m just Victor.” His gaze goes unfocused. “I have to figure out what that means. Who that is.”

“I’m happy to help.” Yuuri holds him close. “Every day for the rest of our lives.”

Victor’s face is so luminous. He looks deeply relieved, but also completely at peace. All of the tension that loomed below the surface of his smile in Aurifera is gone. He looks like the man Yuuri met in a bar, the man who booked an entire hotel floor for them and locked his bodyguard out of Yuuri’s flat to snack on cake balls and pet Vicchan. He looks younger like this, more vibrant and sparkling. 

Yuuri can’t help it; he cries a second time. Not just out of relief, but because Victor’s missed out on so much. He’s lost out on so many things — truthfully, that’s the cruelest piece of Masiuk’s mess. All of the times Victor may not even register where he was robbed of some experience or sight because of some claustrophobic idea of propriety.

Oh.

Masiuk now has the young Yuri to rein in. That’s going to be terrifying as well as comedic from afar. Although… “Will you still be able to talk to your family?”

“Hm,” Victor says. “Well, I said goodbye to my mother before I came. She was proud of me, I think. It’s a little confusing as I’ve certainly caused an upheaval, if not a full blown scandal.”

“She wants you to be happy,” Yuuri says, thinking of the dinner they shared with her in her salon. “I’m sure she’d much rather you abdicate than spend your life lonely”

“That’s true,” Victor muses. He places his index finger over his  lips. He’s lost in thought for a moment. It disappears as fast as it comes. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”

Minus some street noise from Paris intermixed with occasional boofs and meows from the menagerie sharing the flat, Yuuri thinks it’s remarkably silent. He focuses on Victor's slow breathing, trying to clear his mind. It’s not terribly successful, because there’s a lot of questions and few answers. 

“I can hear you thinking,” Victor says with a small nudge to Yuuri’s side. 

“Where are you going to go? What will you do from now on? You left your horse behind, what about her? Did you even bring any belongings? Won’t you miss Doner Ki—” Victor’s kiss cuts short Yuuri’s game of Twenty Questions Except Panicked.

“I will take a month or so to figure out a new path in terms of work, I did leave her behind but I can see if perhaps Mamen’ka might grant me a favor to send her to me, I brought what I normally take on long charity tours except  _ multiple pairs of jeans and comfortable shoes _ , I’m sure in Manhattan of all places I can find decent doner,” Victor prattles. “For where I’ll be...if you’ll have me, I’m happy to just stay by your side.”

Oh God, he loves Victor. There’s not a chance he’d reject this opportunity. “Stay close to me, then,” Yuuri offers as he kisses Victor. It becomes heated almost instantly, but the slow stoking of a comforting wood fire instead of the volcanic reunion from a few minutes ago. 

“When I said I was giving you a chance to be alone, I assumed that meant in your room and not on my vintage area rugs,” Chris says from somewhere towards the front door. “Also, aren’t you concerned about carpet burn this way?”

Yuuri sighs while Victor arranges his overcoat in some sort of pathetic attempt at preserving their modesty. “Okaerinasai, Chris,” Yuuri grumbles. 

“I brought you a pizza, but I think perhaps I’ll put it in the oven to keep warm,” Chris responds in a dry tone. Yuuri can hear him moving, but doesn’t turn to watch what he does. “Also, if you’re going to have sex in my living room, it’s quite rude not to invite me to join.”

Victor opens his mouth for a moment before deciding to close it and shake his head instead. 

“Honestly, it’s as though you two were raised with no manners,” Chris continues as his footsteps move farther away. The pets make more noise, having apparently all settled in the kitchen, and Chris greets all three of them in quiet French Yuuri can’t hear well enough to translate. 

Yuuri looks at Victor, who wears an unrepentant smile. “Let’s respect the host’s request and tuck ourselves in.”

With a sigh, Yuuri grabs his clothing and Victor does the same. They walk through the flat with Yuuri leading, at least until Victor asks, “What’s all this?”

There’s a console table in the hallway that houses a framed thank-you card, several vases of beautiful roses along with some older ones that have been preserved, another framed note that contains mentions of fisticuffs, and an unopened bottle of 2008 Pol Roger Blanc de Blancs brut champagne. It’s arranged like a butsudan would be in Yuuri’s family home, an obvious shrine reverently displayed as an ode to Chris’s power as matchmaker. 

“Long story,” Yuuri says as he continues his Walk of Shame to Chris’s guestroom. 

Victor looks like he wants to inquire further. He must decide against it, because he follows Yuuri, closing the door behind them. The dogs will be upset but  _ oh well _ , because Yuuri has a lot of stress to work out with his…

He’s no longer a prince, so his  _ Victor _ will do fine, Yuuri decides. 

Victor sets his clothing on a cozy barrel chair in the corner, Yuuri puts his on his suitcase, and then they fall into a bed that may not be gilded or the size of an entire penthouse suite, but it’s no less perfect by virtue of the fact that it’s  _ theirs _ . 

They don’t talk much, alternating between quick naps and making love until dawn. Yuuri is about to suggest they sleep for real when his phone rings. It’s the ringtone he chose for his mother, so he doesn’t ignore it like he would Phichit as one example. “Moshi Moshi.”

“Yuuri,” his mother says full of warm affection. Her voice is always like the softness in her smile, and Yuuri is instantly transported to a seaside town’s sole remaining onsen, to mornings helping wash bath linens and spare afternoons spent learning the most efficient way to prep the scallions for the secret family katsudon. “We watched the news this morning. Is there something you need to tell us?”

The sweetness in her voice is a lie, Yuuri instantly realizes, because yes he vaguely mentioned he may be seeing someone and spending the summer with him in Europe, but he definitely did not tell her, Mari, his father, his childhood best friends, or his ballet instructor slash mom’s best friend exactly  _ who _ his new partner is. 

“Oh, um,” Yuuri begins. “Surprise?”

“ _ Surprise _ he says,” his mother continues with the vocal equivalent of rubbing her temples. “My son makes a literal prince fall so in love with him he gives up his title and kingdom, and he can’t even be bothered to tell us anything beyond ‘seeing someone, kind of serious, going to spend the summer in Europe’. Yuuri, what will I ever do with you?”

Yuuri winces. “I mean, I’m too old to be grounded or sent to bed without supper.”

Mom snorts. “Are you though? Are you  _ really _ ?”

“Maybe not,” Yuuri concedes. “I’m sorry, Mom. I should have given a better explanation of who Victor is.”

Victor hears his name and opens one slightly-sleepy eye. Then he realizes what Yuuri said, and he perks up with a great deal of interest. “Your mother?” he mouths.

Yuuri nods. “I’m sorry, Mom, really I am. I’ll see about us possibly coming to Hasetsu for a bit before the new season starts. If not, maybe I can take time in a few months for us to come.” He smiles at Victor, though it’s a little rueful. “I’d like you to meet him.”

“We’d love that,” Mom says. There’s muffled yelling in the background, and she tells the person to hush. “Yuuri, your father is asking if Victor would mind singing some menus alongside you as a marketing ploy. He thinks it’ll help business if we can say our son-in-law is the Prince Who Resigned for Love.”

Some things just never change, Yuuri decides. “Tell him we’ll see.”

“I appreciate you humoring him,” she says. “Have a good day, Yuuri. We love you.”

“Bye, Mom,” he says with a smile. “You too.”

She hangs up, and Yuuri drops his phone somewhere in the giant fluffy duvet. He flops onto his back besides Victor. “My mom wants to meet you. She’s mad I didn’t tell her who you are.”

“I want to meet her!” Victor is livelier than Yuuri is at six am after two espressos. It’s deeply unfair, especially because he’s just unsettlingly gorgeous in the early sunrise light. “I want to see your hometown and your family’s inn! I want to know everything about you and see your baby pictures, meet your hometown friends—”

Oh god, maybe this is a bad choice after all, though...if Victor wants all of Yuuri, this is a good way to give it to him. “Okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Victor rolls into him, draping over his chest with a pleased smile. “Yuuri, you know, this is the first morning in so long I can’t even remember I haven’t had some sort of obligation hanging over me. I’m...just a person now, and I don’t remember ever feeling this free. Everything’s up in the air for me, but I want to take a little time and really sort out what who I am and where I want to go from here. For the first time, I can just be  _ Victor _ , but truthfully I’ve no idea who he is. I think I’ll like figuring myself out.”

“However I can help, I will,” Yuuri offers. Victor caresses Yuuri’s left cheek, and Yuuri leans into it. “I’ll always be by your side.”

Victor smiles, drawing him close for a long kiss, and Yuuri is about ten seconds from seducing him when there’s a loud, single knock on their door as it opens. “Chris, what—”

“Not Chris,” comes Yakov’s gruff voice. He strides into the room with his leather soles clacking on the wood floor. 

Yuuri dives under the covers in a vain attempt at hiding his shame and decency. Victor doesn’t even move, though. 

“Sorry, boys, I tried,” Chris is apparently in the room too. 

There’s a large lump that lands on Yuuri alongside a smaller one whose weight he immediately recognizes. Ah yes. Their pets. The gang’s all here. “If Victor abdicated, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with the other Yuri?”

“I’m  _ Vitya’s  _ bodyguard, not the Duke’s,” Yakov says with a bit of bite in his words. “Frankly, I’m not strong enough for that kid, though few would be. Gosha’s already called me crying  _ twice _ since his unexpected and very recent promotion.”

“It’s a lesson learned from Diana,” Victor says in a serious tone. “Mamen’ka insisted, at least for the time being until everything dies down. Political enemies may take advantage based on the assumption I no longer have protection.”

“I hate that this makes this much sense,” Yuuri grumbles. 

“Yes well,” Yakov states, trying to take back control of the conversation. “Your mother has suspended her birthday celebrations effective immediately. To say Vitya’s caused chaos doesn’t quite cover it. The second emergency council  _ this week  _ has been called.”

“Is it to formalize Yuri as the new heir presumptive?” Victor asks.

“That too, I suppose,” Yakov answers. “No, it seems that your popularity with the citizens has caused Masiuk to lose quite a bit of job security. There’s talk of recalling him and electing a new Minister who won’t cause Aurifera to lose more heirs due to stifling their personalities.”

Yuuri unearths himself from the shelter of down-filled safety. “Sorry, what?”

“The budget for Vitya’s security detail as well as allowances and so forth have to be sorted as well,” Yakov continues, oblivious. “She’d rather not leave you penniless and many of the council members agree, but the actual annual amount has to be set through legislation so no one in the future can use it for political gain.”

“Like cutting me off if they don’t get their way,” Victor says with a sigh.

“Precisely,” Yakov says. “You’ll likely want to Skype into the hearing, as it directly impacts you.” He starts to stride out, then barks something in Russian to Victor that causes him to snort. Chris gives them both an amused look as he closes the door behind Yakov.

“What did he say?” Yuuri asks.

“That I’m worth all this trouble, but only just barely in the end,” Victor translates.

“Agree to disagree,” Yuuri says.

Victor laughs again. “So I’m not worth it then,” he teases as he pulls Yuuri close. 

“You’re ten percent worth it,” Yuuri retorts. Victor kisses him breathless. “Mmm. Twenty percent.”

With another, louder laugh, Victor drags him back under the covers, and they don’t surface until Yakov’s disapproving knocks inform them of an impending Skype call with Princess Ekaterina. 

Reality was going to intrude again sometime, so it’s probably best that it’s sooner instead of later lest they get too complacent, Yuuri decides.


	13. Sacre Coeur 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all comes down to a conference call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> Playlist on [Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4o3q3eD5khmJtRa5SxDJel?si=DAmDzsxBT16i0zxfcNIczA)

Once again, it takes Yuuri about six outfit changes before someone gets annoyed and forces his hand. 

Only this time it’s Victor with a strangled throat noise Yuuri has yet to discover. Instead of appealing to reason like Chris, Victor just says, “Yuuri” as if it’s eight syllables that last four minutes. 

Yuuri sighs. He’s got on a sensible sweater and jeans, it is possibly the least offensive outfit since Fred Rogers popularized the red cardigan in the 1980s. “I’m being weird,” he acknowledges. From his off and on stints in therapy, he knows that self-awareness is a large factor in personal growth. 

“Yes,” Victor agrees. “Though, granted I’ve had the appropriate type of outfits for different occasions drilled into me since eight years old.”

“That whole  _ no jeans _ thing.” Yuuri wavers on contacts or glasses before deciding he doesn’t feel like sticking his fingers in his eyes this morning. His blue half-rimmed frames it is. 

“I don’t remember the last time I wore trainers outside of a workout,” Victor thinks out loud. “Probably when I first enlisted into the cavalry.”

Yuuri frowns.

Victor notices. He looks down at the jeans he has on his bottom half alongside the haphazardly-tied, brand new Adidas sneakers that Yuuri wonders when he had the time to grab with the short turnaround of giving up a throne and flying to France. 

The sneakers have navy blue stripes on their sides, and the sweater Victor wears is burgundy, so maybe the entirety of being the Auriferan Crown Prince will be hard to shake. 

A grimly exasperated sigh that can only belong to Yakov grabs both of their attention. Yakov gestures to the living room, and they follow him with their dogs trailing behind. The laptop is already logged onto a Zoom conference link and awaiting the other party to begin. Victor gives Yakov a confused look. 

“Your mother decided it would be best to avoid a back and forth,” Yakov explains. “It’s all going to happen at once with you two on the line.”

Yuuri wonders if the French Foriegn Legion still takes applicants, which then causes him to ponder if the French Foriegn Legion still exists as an entity at all. He can probably just take his savings and move to a country with no extradition treaties like the Maldives. He likes the sun. It’ll be nice there, he thinks.

There’s a beeping, and a robotic voice declares that people have joined the conference. Princess Ekaterina is close to the screen in a suit that has such fine tailoring it could stab a man wearing off the rack in less than thirty seconds. The blouse she wears under the black silk wool is burgundy with a large tie-neck formed into a bow at her neck.

Yuuri suspects the colors of Aurifera were chosen mostly to make the royal family look like stone-cold killers. 

It definitely works.

Another beep, and a third video window with the council chamber appears, probably so they can have a better vantage of everything. The new heir appears next to the Princess in mostly black, minus the burgundy sash over his chest. Then a fourth window pops up and it’s the Biggest Asshole in the Universe, Masiuk. 

Masiuk has many hairs out of place, his outfit looks haphazardly chosen with wrinkles in the tie and some lint on a lapel. The expression on his face is the epitome of having been taken down quite a few pegs. 

Yuuri smiles like the sun, at least until Victor elbows him. As Yuuri tries to make himself look less pettily pleased, he spots a slight twitch upwards on Victor’s lips as if he’s fighting back laughter. 

As Phichit would say,  _ this shit is quality _ .

Ekaterina says something in Belarusian, then translates to English. “This session will now begin. As I’m certain you all know, we’ve gathered to start the tasks regarding the reorganization of the line of succession, as well as to deal with other… controversies that will hamper our governmental process.”

Masiuk visibly begins to sweat on his brow. “Your Highness, if I may…” 

Ekaterina nods. 

“I’ve had some… personal issues crop up, and I think it is best I resign,” Masiuk continues. The last bit sounds like grinding his teeth on glass, and Yuuri grows annoyed that he won’t be served the humiliation of losing a recall. 

Though when it comes down to it, he’s not relinquishing his power on his own terms. This is a man who had full intention of staying in his role until death while keeping a stranglehold on the royal family. Yuuri will allow it. Given the twitching at the corner of his lips, Victor has to keep a lid on his palpable pleasure at this turn of events.

Princess Ekaterina gives a humorless smile. “That sounds fine. Effective immediately, I assume?”

Masiuk hedges, but after a glance in the chambers he realizes he would have minimal support to argue. “Yes.”

Yuri smiles next to his aunt. “Deuces,” he says with two of his fingers raised in Masiuk’s direction.

“Yuri,” Ekaterina admonishes.

“Like  _ hell _ I’m cutting  _ my _ hair,” Yuri spits. 

“Vitya’s hair was lovely,” she replies with a wistful tone. She then comes back to the present. Masiuk scuttles away from the computer in disgrace, though if Yuuri had his way a full perp-walk while “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye” would blare on every speaker in Eastern Europe. 

Nothing but full humiliation for his former Prime Minister.

The fun part’s over, so they begin discussing the formalities of Yuri now becoming the new heir. The bulk of it flies over Yuuri’s head, until Ekaterina says Victor’s name. 

Victor looks up. “Yes, Mamen’ka?”

“You’re sure,” she replies. She doesn’t say it as a question (from the look in her eyes she knows already), but she wants to let him have an out now that Masiuk’s gone for good.

Victor doesn’t look at his mother, but at Yuuri instead as he says, “In my whole life, I’ve only been sure of this.”

Ekaterina has happy tears visible in her eyes, though she doesn’t permit them to fall. “Good.” Her smile turns teasing. “I told you not to screw this up. If you do, then I’m dragging you back here kicking and screaming.”

“Can she?” Yuuri whispers.

“As there’s no precedent, I’ll just say I’d prefer not to test her,” Victor answers. 

The discussion turns into the official proceedings for Yuri becoming the heir, such as a parade and formal dinners at a future point Victor will have to attend as a sign there’s no ill will. Which there’s not, so it’s not a problem really. The allowance they decide on and that will be codified into law is more money than Yuuri has ever known a person could be given (with cost of living increases annually on top of it), but since part of it is being allocated for their security detail in perpetuity, it makes a bit of sense. 

They’re also going to send Victor his horse whenever they find a place to grow some roots, which means probably a property with a stable close by, and Yuuri squeezes Victor’s hand as delighted, gratified tears fill his eyes. There may be someplace in Westchester County or Greenwich that will allow Yuuri to stay at the Met. Although they don’t really need to stay in New York, he guesses. Opera houses exist all over the world. 

The concrete jungle that dreams are made of is where they fell in love, though, and as an opera singer, Yuuri appreciates symmetry like that on a deep level. He promised his mom to bring Victor to Japan, though, so maybe they can take a brief detour through Hasetsu and then decide where to settle down after. 

All told, the discussion and decisions last about two hours, and the Ministry signs off first with good wishes to Victor and Yuuri both. His mother lingers for a bit, before saying, “I’m proud of you.”

Victor’s smile is a bit watery. “Mamen’ka.”

“Yeah, you finally did something smart, you dipshit,” Yuri declares. The gentle look on his face undermines the insult. He looks a little teary, actually. 

“You were always better at politics,” Victor admits. “I care too much. I got it from Papen’ka.”

Yuuri gives Victor a quizzical look. This is the first mention of his father beyond the portraits throughout the palace and brief interludes during Ekaterina’s birthday celebrations. She’s never remarried since he died, and now Yuuri worries that she’s lost both of the men in her life in ways that are beyond her control. 

She’s not sad though, not really beyond any mother sending a kid away to college or something. The joy is sincere in her eyes as she looks at her now-commoner son. “Whatever your new path is, Vitya, promise me you won’t settle for anything less than what brings you joy. And if you don’t call at least weekly, I’ll show up in person to scold you.”

She hangs up, and the Zoom link says again they’re awaiting the other parties to join. 

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. Before he can ask, Yakov says, “She had to do it three times at his boarding school. It was quite stressful for the headmaster.”

“Is this why no one knocks? They learned it from your mom?” Yuuri asks.

“It’s possible,” Victor says. He seems lost in thought for a minute or two, possibly trapped in some sort of lack-of-privacy war flashback. It clears. He turns to Yakov. “One of the stipulations is me still using the plane, provided they don’t require it, correct?”

“Yes.” The tone of Yakov’s voice is so deeply unamused. 

“Is it still here in Paris?” Victor continues.

“...Yes.” Now Yakov looks like a living frown emoji. Yuuri didn’t know a man’s face could bend this way. He’s tempted to take a photo for posterity. 

“How hard are the rules about bringing animals into Japan and quarantine?” Victor continues. 

Yuuri’s eyes widen. Makkachin and Vicchan… he’s never been able to introduce his family to Vicchan. He gets a lump in his throat at the mere idea. 

“Forty days advance notice by fax or mail, ISO compliant microchip implantation, two approved rabies vaccines a minimum of 31 days apart, rabies titer testing approved by the Ministry of Agriculture, six months waiting period after the titer test, approved certificate of health, and some recommended treatments to avoid a quarantine that exceeds 12 hours,” Yakov prattles.

“Damn, six months,” Victor says.

Chris clears his throat, and Yuuri guiltily realizes he even forgot they were in his home. “If you’re only going for a week or two, since the opera here is dark I can take care of the dogs. I rather think Manon would become depressed if I don’t.”

The cat is curled up in between the poodles under a window. Victor takes a photo and Yuuri’s heart almost explodes. 

“We won’t be gone terribly long and I’ll pay for their food,” Yuuri says. “And dinner before we go.”

Chris lights up, then exits. There’s rummaging and a timer dinging followed by Chris bringing in the pizza from the night before. It’s hot and gooey, topped with gorgonzola, mascarpone, mushrooms, ricotta, and smoked ham. Yuuri gladly takes a bite, because pizza for breakfast is a universal constant across the globe and they didn’t eat before all the formalities began. 

Victor takes an eager bite. “Ahhhh, my favorite.”

Yuuri thinks back to his flat in New York, to cake truffles and junk food cookies, and he realizes this may be one of the few pizzas Victor’s ever been able to eat. He hands Victor a second slice before he’s halfway done with the one he has. He also makes sure that his mother has the Yu-Topia house special ready to go upon their arrival. 

When he’s polished off his second slice, Victor favors Yuuri with a slightly grease-sticky kiss, and Yuuri can’t mind this at all. The fairy tale ending wasn’t in the cards, but there’s other kinds of happily ever afters. 

He’s on his way to theirs with Victor right beside him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back, I know my updates haven't been consistent or quick for a while. Real life, but also I've been feeling pretty bad about my writing for a while and needed to kind of shake the negativity.
> 
> If you like this, please comment or kudos! It means a lot.


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